


The Greatest Responsibility is to Hide the Truth... Because Superpowers Suck.

by Venstar



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Temporary Character Death, alec tries to help, new villains, takes place between Skyfall and Spectre, we all know he's the helpest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:25:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9354179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: Sometimes the greatest responsibility is to hide the truth from the ones you think you know.  Other times, the greatest responsibility you can have, is saving each other’s asses.  Bond has a secret that he doesn’t want anyone to know, it’s what fuels his “resurrection” hobby.  Okay Alec knows, but they’re besties, he was bound to find out!  Q is suddenly hit with a secret that he doesn’t want anyone to know, except for his cats and Rufus the roomba, or else he could be stuck in a lab forever and not as it’s Supreme Overlord!  A failed kidnap reveals what the urban hero and the supreme lab rat have in common.  They must get their shit together and work as a team, for the greater good and a bit of kissing.IT WAS MORE THAN KISSING!Shut up Alec!WHAT?  YOU DIDN’T TELL IT PROPERLY.  LET ME TELL IT.  LADIES AND GENTLEMEN-For God’s sake Alec, shut your gob!THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE SUPERCOMPUTER AND THE SUPER COCKROACH.  TWO OF MI6’S GREATEST IDIOTS!I still didn’t agree to those names!





	1. Two Parallels Don't Make a Right

**Author's Note:**

> \-- thank you to arasart who drew this fantastic mysterious superhero prompt that was just dying for a story and for allowing me to play with the traditional superhero backstories.  
> \-- thanks go out to thebookworm214, my whip cracking comma checking grammar hero and Jess F for laughing at my lame ass jokes in this.  
> \--DISCLAIMER: all the technobabble that I spouted within this work of fiction, is a work of fiction. *waves jedi fingers* byeeeeeeeeeee!

 art by [Arasart](http://arasart.tumblr.com/)

\-----  
The itsy-bitsy spider  
Climbed up the water spout  
Down came the rain  
And washed the spider out.  
\-----

Following SPECTRE’s monthly meeting, where the topic at the top of the to do list was Silva’s failure at taking down MI6’s cyber infrastructure, The Black Widows gathered for an emergency meeting in Paris. Silva’s lapse had set SPECTRE back, and they were reeling from the cost of Silva’s personal vendetta against M, the singular head of MI6. The man had been on the thin edge of sanity and genius, but he had finally snapped from his obsessive pursuit of M.

What Silva had forgotten was that MI6 was but one piece in a series of wheels and gears that SPECTRE was trying to piece together into their own machine. M had been a single cog that when broken, as they all eventually do, could easily be replaced, but the link and an opening into the heart of MI6’s network had suffered a ‘setback’.

No one quite knew what to do with the tenuous claw that Silva had left dangling, but it had been decided that the fixers of this problem would be The Black Widows: a singularly unique organization that was Women Only, who possessed particular skill sets and was not financed by sexual favors or trade. Woe was the individual who mistook them for harlots and whores, a pretty face attached to a computer. The Black Widows were women, girls and those in between, capable of entering any level of any organization using various time honored methods, by hook or by crook.

At a cozy historic Parisian cafe, the regular hours had long since passed and the proprietor had been handsomely compensated for the extra time. Elbow to elbow sat a dozen women of various ages and clothing styles chatting cozily, late into the evening.

A young, scrawny slip of a teenager, leaned over to the grey haired abuelita sitting next to her. “Aurelia, does this look right?”

The abuelita turned to the girl who was holding her knitting needles tightly to keep her project from slipping off. Aurelia eyed the messy project before taking up the pair of needles, her wrinkled hands handling them with years of experience. She counted quickly before returning the bundle of needles and yarn. “No, you dropped some stitches in the row before. Undo it and start again; remember to count!”

“I thought I could eyeball it.” The girl sighed and began unraveling the uneven scarf. She sat back, her brows furrowed in concentration as she began again, counting softly. The abuelita smiled. The coffee and conversation flowed warm and softly over the group as they waited for their Prime to give them the sign to start the official business.

A quick rapping of a spoon on a tea cup had heads turning. A strong, clear voice rose above the din of the chatter. “Put away your needles Myrna, there’s a dear. Ladies?” A slew of murmured acknowledgement as books, laptops, tablets, needles, astrology charts and knives were tucked away and attention was paid to the Prime.

“Prime.”

“Prima.”

“Ma’am.”

“Signora.”

Without preamble, the Prime led with, “We’ve been asked to infiltrate MI6 and take possession of the Quartermaster.” She took a sip of her tea to give her words a chance to sink in.

When they did, whispers and elbows passed like morse code amongst the ladies. Some shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

The Prime set her cup down and reached for a croissant, “I know, I know. We’ve never been asked to reach into such an organization as MI6, but we’ve been called to duty.”

There was a pause, and one of the ladies at the far end of the table, heavy-set with heart shaped glasses and a denim vest full of pins spoke up first. “You make this sound like war.”

“This will not be unlike our regular assignments. We are being asked to infiltrate, capture and shore up what Silva failed to do. Apparently, he didn’t have the ability to follow through.”

A small titter went through the women before they tore into the failed so-called computer genius.

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Like a thousand times.”

“Tale as old as time.”

“Never send a man to do a woman’s job.”

“Ladies,” the Prime said sternly. “As I was saying, where Silva failed, it is hoped that we’ll be able to succeed.”

“Why should we complete his task? Do him a favor in death?” A dark haired woman, nursing a baby asked. She switched breasts and continued. “Silva continually painted us as useless data entry whores for his entire career at SPECTRE.” This set the ladies back off in a cacophony of snide comments.

“Boooooooooo.”

“He WAS such a rat.”

“Did you see his hair? Who did he think he was, Madonna?”

“Bitch, I'm Madonna.”

“Poor Séverine.”

“I wouldn’t have touched him with a ten-foot pole.”

“Karma’s a bitch.”

“And so are we.”

“Ladies. MI6 has long been a sleeping giant. They were poked and now with the new turnover, security has been tightened. Fortunately for us, unless deadly or useful, women are seen as the least threatening. We’re ignored, passed over, underestimated...until it’s too late. They’ll never suspect that Myrna and her needles pose a threat.”

Whistles and giggles were passed back and forth. “You’ll get an eyeful Myrna, lucky.”

The teenager panicked knocking here knitwork off the table, “ME! I didn’t volunteer!”

“Can you imagine? Hooking up with a double-oh. I wouldn’t even have to kill him before I got bored with him. He’d do it himself eventually,” One of the women cackled.

The Prime coughed.

“Apologies.”

The Prime continued on, “SPECTRE has given us our mission parameters and funds for equipment. Our job is to get someone into the highest security levels that we can, fix Silva’s mistakes, and take the Quartermaster. SPECTRE wants to see holes.”

A young woman with heavily beaded and braided hair leaned forward, catching the Prime’s eyes. “Silva ‘handled’ computers. That’s as far as SPECTRE ever knew. Not a very tech savvy lot.”

A slouching woman in her 20’s, with an elegant top knot of hair and a Chanel suit spoke up, disrupting the genial atmosphere. “Q-branch. You want one of us to get into Q-branch. That is where the heart of MI6’s cybersecurity is, I don’t care if they have an IT division. It’s Q-branch you’re asking us to hit.”

The Prime confirmed it. “Yes, La Nola, Q-branch.”

La Nola continued, “And take the Quartermaster. As cute as we’ve all imagined him, you want us to break into Q-branch, bust up their system, and take the Quartermaster.” A moment of stunned silence followed by a few choice curse words rippled through the ladies.

“It won’t be easy.”

“Not with this new Quartermaster. Silva was a right idiot.”

“Heard he’s got that place locked down tight.”

“His firewalls have firewalls.”

“Ohhh, flirting with the Quartermaster! That would be an interesting side game to play with him.”

“What makes you think it’s a him?”

“Yeah, why can’t it be a she?”

“The Master bit dearie, surely MI6 would have listed the position as Quartermistress if they were indeed female.”

“I’d like to be locked in her dungeon.”

“Alright, who wants to shoot for it?”

“Rock, paper, scissors, lizard, Spock? There’s enough of us to do that version.”

“I’ll do it.”

Heads turned as one to look at the slouching woman in Chanel. “I’ll do it.” she said louder, more firmly.

“La Nola,” said the Prime, acknowledging her with the nod of her head.

“I’m not afraid of Q-branch. I’ll do it. Plus,” she gave a smile and nudged her neighbor, “I’ll be the first one to lay eyes on the new Quartermaster, and won’t that be a bonus. Aside from completing the mission, maybe he’d fancy a shag, and who knows what might happen. Who wants to be my support team?” She looked around and the Black Widows began making lists and forgetting them as they drew up their web to trap their prey in order to cut the knees out from under MI6.

 

###

 

It was a depressing state of affairs. In a rare fit of emotion, 007 remained well and far away from English soil after the devastation wrought on his ancestral home. At least, that’s what everyone was guessing, R had started a photo album titled FIND 007. Every picture and scrap of film in which the minions thought they saw 007 was uploaded to it. The minions had gleefully collected the worst images ever: fuzzy pictures, the backs of heads, feet, it was dreadful, but it gave them something to do, and R argued that it was good for morale. Q couldn’t quite be certain if 007 wasn’t just hiding out in the middle of London; the agent was known to be contrary.

“Be where you least expect them and they’ll never find you,” Q thought, but all searches at Bond’s temporary flat and storage unit had turned up nothing but dust, partially filled boxes of fragments of Bond’s almost non-existent life, and the government vehicle that 007 and M had abandoned in their tactical retreat to higher ground.

Q had long given up answering Mallory, the new M, when asked if he had any luck finding the recalcitrant agent. Instead, theirs had turned into a warring game of silence. Mallory would look at Q with irritation, and Q would look back at him with innocent patience, nothing to report, nothing to say. Q would retreat into the silent depths of Q-branch where words were usually lost on the rest of the truculent agents that they needed to focus on. Managing them took all hands on deck, and Q couldn’t afford to split his attention from them to one lone missing agent.

“He’s not missing,” Q would say to R, “He’s mourning. There’s a difference, and no one will listen to me.”

“He’s being a pain in the arse, and you’re hardly a prophet.”

Q gave R a small uptick of his mouth before hiding it behind his Scrabble mug, “Yes, quite. Next I hear from him, I’ll tell him how you dearly missed him.”

“Do that and I’ll tell 006 that you’re the one who burnt holes in his favorite tactical jacket.”

Q choked on his tea, “That was you!”

“Spies full of lies, Q. Lies full of spies.” R said. She gave him a good whack to the back before wading out into the bullpen of minions, thick on the ground like bespectacled lemmings. Her arms spread to either side, greeting her subjects with the benevolence of a fallen angel.

“He’ll come back when he’s ready,” Q mumbled into his tea. No one could hear him, so he could lie to himself and others that he had made that prophecy. He glared at the dregs in his cup and wished for a moment that it had come from real tea leaves, rather than tea bags. He was pretty sure that if you wanted to read your fortune in your cup, you’d need leaves, not soggy tired teabags.

Like a cog, Q ticked over and began wading through the incredible workload that his branch created. Whether or not 007 came back, the machine of MI6 would keep churning. New interns, retiring coworkers, department transfers - Q looked up at at the sound of a percussive thud - the development of new compact ordinance. Q’s eyes tracked the new intern as they came scurrying out of the hallway, with soot on their face and mayhem in their glowing eyes. Several minions detached themselves from R and went to join their cohort. Everything was functioning admirably, as it should be. Q made his way to his private office to sort through the stack of paperwork that never seemed to shrink. Q looked up as his laptop started pinging. Two red flags went up over a special program he was running in a small window. Someone had gained entrance to 007’s storage unit and made a large purchase using his bank account. Q’s eyebrows shot up, a few keystrokes and a quick takeover of a few CCTV cameras had him sitting back, breathing out a sigh of relief, before his eyes narrowed at the evidence running across his screen. 007 was back, it seemed.


	2. Prick Him and He Will Bleed or at Least Say Ow!

As silently as they were trained to be, two double-oh agents moved through the residential town home. First through the entrance hallway, shoes making no sound over the red and yellow Victorian tile, slowly entering the first set of carpeted stairs. Trouble found them in a tight spot at the first landing, one of the agents grunted, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.

“It won’t fit.”

“Pivot!”

“I’m trying, push!”

“Pivot!”

“I swear to God Jameska, don’t you start that American telly shit with me.”

“Pivot,” James whispered, his eyes twinkling with unholy glee at his helpless moving partner.

“Alright, that’s it!” Alec Trevelyan dropped his end of the couch and sat down hard on the staircase.

“Come on grouch, I need to get this moved before I check in with Mallory.”

“M.”

James glared at Alec. “Get off your arse and finish helping me.”

“He’s not a bad sort,” Alec ignored his friend, using the idle gossip as a chance to rest and be annoying. Two of his favorite things. “Once you get to know him.”

James leaned against the back of the couch, peering up at Alec. “Get to know him? I don’t need to get to know him.”

“He’s the new M, Jameska.” Alec watched as his friends eyes flicked to the side at the designation. “M. Say it with me now. You belligerent bastard.” James remained stubbornly silent. “You’re gonna have to talk to him at some point. Address him as M.”

“I can get away with just Sir,” James growled out mulishly.

“M is a designation, it will continue on…”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

“It will continue on, even if...when this one falls.”

James whispered ferociously up the stairs, “All I have to do is take orders and complete the missions. I’ll nod.”

“Don’t forget,” Alec began to tick off his fingers, “You also have to flirt with Moneypenny, that always annoys her. Partially fill out the paperwork, because THAT annoys Tanner. Finally, get yelled at by Q. Or R, that she demon.”

A smile flitted across James’s face, “That is the best part. Getting yelled at by Q, not by R.” He shuddered. “She scares me.”

Alec leaned back on the staircase. “Wonder what Q would be like as M.”

“Not Tanner? Well, then you’d have to deal with R as Q.” James said thoughtfully, his hand brushing against his three days of scruff.

“Hmmm, good point.” Alec winced at the idea. “We could put Q as M, R as Moneypenny, Moneypenny as R and Tanner as Q. It’d be interesting.”

“If you’re so bored that you have to theoretically rearrange the hierarchy at MI6, you treasonous wretch, then you can entertain yourself by helping me get this up the stairs. Come on, I’m hungry.”

Alec sighed, his reprieve over. As one, he and James returned their focus to the sofa and began a steady climb to the top floor of the townhome. “I hate that we always have to have the top floor.”

Panting, James looked up, “Just a few more steps and we’re almost there. Besides, how else would I be able to leave and return unnoticed?

“Leaping from rooftops.” Alec shook his head. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“Yeah,” James grunted. “Oh God, almost there and just one more push...WATCH IT!” He was too late in his warning and Alec was roughly pushed into the flat as they came even with the landing. Alec landed with a thud on his arse, the sofa falling with an even louder thud than Alec’s bony bottom. “SSSSSshhh,” James laughed, “You’re going to get me in trouble with my downstairs neighbors!”

“You shush.” Alec kicked the sofa before flopping backwards. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t have gotten a useful superpower.”

“What do you mean? This is-” James gave the skin on the underside of his wrist a small scratch, “-sort of useful.”

“Look, all I’m saying is why couldn’t you have gotten super strength or the ability to teleport?” Alec kicked the sofa once more.

“Hey!”

“Then I wouldn’t have to help you relocate your shit every damn time you don’t actually die, but pretend to and then go into hiding.”

James gave a long suffering sigh. “I do actually die, you know, and contrary to your singular belief, it’s painful every damn time. So if you think I like waking up after bleeding out from a long, drawn out session of torture, think again. Just because I die and come back, doesn’t mean I don’t feel it or remember it.”

“See. I’m right. You could have a useful power, like teleportation and then you could just get yourself out of there, boom. Not some magical little mark that brought you back to life.” Alec wiggled his fingers in James’s direction.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you and your sofa.”

 

###

 

Alec leaned against the doorframe to James’ new bedroom. Boxes in various sizes were lined up against one wall, nothing unpacked, except for one set of bed linens that Alec had forced James to shake out rather than use the excuse of an unmade bed to wander back to Alec’s flat. James knelt in the middle of the bedroom floor with two black trunks, heavily reinforced and passcode locked before him. Alec’s lips tightened as James entered the passcodes into each trunk, their lids popping open with a small sigh of air, as if they too were tired and couldn’t be bothered to give a shit.

“Are you going to help me or are you going to stand there and act like my Mum?” James asked as he lifted the lids, rooting around through the contents, his voice muffled by the throwback from the curved lid.

“You need a Mum, to smack your backside. Christ, Jameska, you just got back and now you’re going to go out and…” Alec waved his hands at the trunks, “...do that? It’s not your fault, you know.”

James spared a dark glare for Alec before he started, pulling various bits of black, ripstop tactical gear out. He checked each piece, and, finding a hole in one of the shirts, he pushed a finger through it. “357 SIG-Sauer. Hurt like a bitch. Right through the lung. I drowned in my own blood that night.” James hummed at the memory.

“I was there. You don’t have to do this. Working for MI6 gives you plenty of opportunities to die, all official. No mess, no fuss, no paper- scratch that there’s paperwork- no one to know, just the amazement that you’re not dead yet.”

“I saved a sleeping family from an armed robbery.” The memory fogged James’s eyes over; he stopped looking at Alec, and instead looked through him, to another place in time. He abruptly recalled himself, shaking like a dog tearing at its leash. “Are you telling me that if I go out, you won’t help me anymore?” Blue eyes met green, and a silent question hung between them.

“I didn’t say that. It’s just, it’s not healthy.” Alec winced as James rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I know, what part of our lives IS healthy. Stupid statement.”

“I was given this power, more like took it by accident, but I have it. I can be more than one person with it, I can be the agent for MI6 and I can…”

“Be the Stupendous Puma?” Alec finished for him.

“What?” James cocked his head at Alec’s statement, his hands still gripping his tactical gear.

Alec waved his hand in the air, “Come on, a superhero name. Have to have one. I’ve been thinking about it. The Snarling Mongoose?”

“Alec.”

“The Dramatic Moron. Oh! The Brave Little Toaster!” Alec snapped his fingers, his eyes lighting up before he found himself with a wad of ripstop fabric up his nose as James threw the handful at him.

“Shut up, you arse. I don’t have a name.” James stripped in front of Alec, his feet bare, the floor cold. Old scars and new littered his body, each telling a story of sacrifice. The light caught on the shining recovering surface of the new pink ones, the old ones dulled with time and friction. James pulled the light absorbing, black tactical gear on piece by piece as he ignored Alec’s soft muttering of dark invectives and the worries of an old woman.

“I don’t know why you bother with the kevlar.”

“Resurrection, Alec, is not without pain. Remember that last bullet I took?”

Alec looked down at the piece of material at his feet. James had come to him after the mishap with the armed robber, his teeth bloody, his smile feral, and his eyes burning bright. Alec had held him as his lungs had filled and he could no longer breathe, and Alec still thinks he stopped breathing right alongside him that day. Even though he had known what James was capable of, it was still difficult: to lose, to wait, to hope. Alec waited through the night, James cold and unbreathing in his arms as minute by minute, hour by hour passed and his hope decreased in small increments with the time, until James came back. It was a messy, bloody, and violent comeback. “Kevlar’s a good idea.” Alec agreed, nodding solemnly. It wouldn’t cover all of James, but it would protect him better. “Q ever find out you still have it?”

“Nope.”

“He’s gonna kill you when he finds out. And when he finds out you’ve squirreled away a few of his gadgets that were supposedly ‘destroyed’ in a flashy escape in Amsterdam...” Alec shook his finger at James. “Naughty, naughty. Water damage, you listed them as.”

James shrugged as he tucked and buttoned his gear up. “Who’s to say he’s going to find out?”

“He’s smart, our Q. Surprised he hasn’t come knocking on your door already demanding you return to MI6. You know how he likes his equipment and agents back in one piece. Goes on about it like they’re his kids.”

“I answer to the head of MI6, not it’s Quartermaster. Besides, I’m hardly Q’s equipment, nor am I his child.” James kept his face still. Alec always had a way of getting him to roll his eyes, like he was some hormone filled teenager with a bad attitude.

“If the shoe fits.”

James threw his heavy combat boot at Alec’s head. “Why would Q be pounding on my door? You know, I let you in on my secret. I let you help me and this is the thanks I get? You could give the little Russian grandmas a run for their money on unsolicited advice and mother henning.”

Alec had dodged the boot and snagged it in mid-air. He threw it fast and hard at James, who caught it just as easily. “You know you’re his favorite, and you’ve been missing for ages now. So long, in fact, that M’s stopped asking him where you are. Q hasn’t even asked me where you are, and if he hasn’t asked me where you are, it’s because he isn’t worried and has a way of tracking you when you come back. It’s not been easy for him after Skyfall.” James looked up at Alec as he put his boots on.

“Anything else you feel like sharing with the class?” James asked, pausing in pulling his boot on.

“No. I’m not telling you any more.” Alec turned from the bedroom and padded into the kitchen to rummage around in the various takeout containers left on the counter. James followed him out, one boot on, one boot off, and sat in the lone chair next to the sofa. “This place is lonely,” Alec observed out loud, waving a pair of chopsticks in the air.

“Well, man of mysterious exchanges,” James said as he stuck his foot into his other boot and began lacing them up, “It’s going to get very lonely shortly, since I’m going out. I hope if Q shows up, you’ll be able to defend your honor with your chopsticks.”

“My honor,” Alec mumbled around a mouthful. “Be careful Jameska. I’ll kip on the couch here tonight, so you don’t have to look far if you get into trouble.”

James stood, pulling a black balaclava up over the lower half of his face and the hood up over his hair. He crossed the living room to the door that opened to the balcony; Bond looked over his shoulder at Alec, who was still stuffing his face in the kitchen. Eyes hidden in shadow, glinting out of his makeshift costume, he waited for Alec to pause in his eating. “Don’t wait up.” With that, he launched himself out the window, grabbing for the fire escape, making his way up to the roof top.


	3. The Very Horrible, Very Bad, No Good Day or How My Life Got Flipped, Turned Upside Down

This morning wasn’t like any other normal start to the workday. It began with an unfortunate series of unexpected frustrations: the fight with the sock drawer over mismatched socks, diving into the closet to find the misplaced shoes that weren't misplaced but had been put away in the closet where they belonged in the first place. Trousers up, shirt on, feet tripped over and shoes shoved on. Breakfast! Although there was barely enough time for it, there almost wasn’t enough milk in the fridge for that ever important morning bowl of cereal. They did say that breakfast was the most important meal of the day, but whoever said that should be shot...by a double-oh. Q paused mid-bite and wondered for a moment if it were possible to send a double-oh back through time to strangle the origin of morning people.

“I’ve lived on this planet for 30 some odd years, and it’s amazing how some mornings still get away from me,” Q mumbled into his cereal bowl. In the living room, the telly was tuned to the morning weather and news. A high of 20C with a low of 9C. Brrr, surprise a cold front coming through. Q listened between the crunching of the cereal and paused in the midst of his crunching, when he heard the words “Urban myth?” He rose with his bowl to lean out into the doorway to get a better view of channel 4 reporting on the breaking news. The studio newswoman pressed her ear piece harder against her ear and then began speaking to the over excited on site reporter at the scene.

“He’s back!” Q mumbled excitedly, his spoon suspended in mid air. He turned back to the kitchen, stumbling over his cats on the way. Dishes, dishes, dishes he thought absentmindedly after apologizing profusely to Turpentine, his inky black cat and Grommet, his spastic calico. He turned his attention back to the television as the reporter began the gruesome tale.

“Right Sabrina,” the reporter began, using his most serious voice, “Early this morning two armed men were found tied to a bench in the park by a couple of joggers.” The reporter pointed behind him to the section of the park that was taped off by yellow caution police crime scene tape, officers standing around, guarding the perimeter. The reporter continued, “Now it's undetermined how these men got here or what establishment they robbed.” The reporter looked down at his notes and back up to camera, “Currently, the authorities are searching local businesses and homes, trying to identify the men and determine if a crime did occur. Looks like our local hero is back in town!.”

“Ken, what makes you think this is our London hero?” Sabrina asked.

“Well, it appears that we have some cctv footage. It’s grainy, but clearly it shows something lurking in the shadows and then a dark shape apprehending these men.”

“Ah,” Sabrina smiled, “we haven’t seen him or her in awhile; the London hero strikes again!”

“That is the initial thought from the officers. And they're not too happy about civilian vigilantism.”

“Any other comments from the police?” Sabrina asked.

“They stress that you should phone the authorities if you see anything suspicious and to not attempt to interfere. Please, let the police do their jobs. We'll have more details later. Back to you Sabrina.”

“Thanks Ken. Well there you have it folks,” Sabrina said, smiling as if returning urban heroes were a common nuisance to be tolerated. “Live with our on the ground crew, we'll have more news as it unfolds.”

Q looked down at his watch. “Shit.” He was late. He was past late, he was later than late. R would be shaking the “LATE FOR NO GOOD REASON OTHER THAN I’M A LAZY BUM” jar at him. In a flurry of elbows, wool, tweed and cat hair, Q rushed through the rest of his morning toilet and clattered hurriedly out of his front door. His cats meowed their goodbye, and he yelled back through the closed door that he’d see them later and not to wait up for him! He swirled around at his front door, pulling himself up short, he met his neighbor, Old Mrs. McMurtry’s steely eyed stare and pursed lips. “A gentleman does NOT yell down the street in the early hours, waking his neighbors.”

Q’s eyes drifted to the floor and over to Mrs. Mac’s beleaguered Maltese, Bernard, at the end of his leash. Q’s cheeks pinkened. Mrs. McMurtry sniffled once before dragging poor Bernard into her Mew house. “Well I guess I’m not a gentleman,” Q muttered to the cobblestones on their private street. The stones ignored him, and so did the rest of his street, regardless of Mrs. Mac’s predictions. Q tore off swiftly down the row of Mew houses and exited the gates, frowning at the ancient security system they had. He had written a letter to the company who maintained the locks and suggested some improvements, but had heard nothing back from them. “I’d do it for free,” he muttered. “They should be so lucky.”

###

Q finally made it to the tube station and got caught up with the thick mass of early morning commuters. Like a herd of turtles in peanut butter, they arrived at the correct platform. Precious seconds flowed swiftly past in his mental clock.

“Fuck.” Q’s succinct statement ended with the exacting sssshhnk, as the doors to the train slid shut in his face. “Well, dammit.” Q stepped back, the crowd of morning commuters bumping and sliding behind him; he heard a few other choice curse words flow from behind him, good he wasn’t the only one screwed. In his foul mood, he was in good company. “Bollocks and bother, oh bother.” He glanced down at his mobile; he’d have to wait for the next train or take a cab. He did the mental calculations. It would be easier to wait for the train versus taking a cab, with the amount of traffic that would be on the streets. One wasn’t better than the other. R would definitely be waiting for him with her jar. Q shifted from foot to foot, impatient with his fellow riders. He blew his fringe out of his eyes and nearly sank to the ground in relief as the next train finally barrelled into the tube stop. “Finally.” He jumped on and then nearly jumped back off as he came into contact with the least expected person in the world. He opened his mouth to say something to James Bond, the missing terror of MI6, who had magically appeared back in London, sour face and all. A very handsome, sour face Q corrected himself. Q and Bond were almost of the same height, but the deadly agent had a way of staring a person down until they were but the size of their own trainers. Q unconsciously straightened his posture, gaining small increments in millimeters.

James’s gaze flicked up and down, rapidly and then it shifted past Q’s shoulder. The corner of his mouth lifted by the smallest of movements. He leaned slightly towards Q, as he was jostled closer, “Welcome to rush hour on the tube.”

“Er, yes. It is a bit of a-” Q was interrupted as the passengers behind him shuffled him forward. He grabbed for the pole and bumbled his way into Bond, getting a faceful of silk tie. “Crush. Beg pardon.” Q pushed himself back upright and attempted to straighten his glasses and the now wrinkled front of Bond’s tie. He caught the slight grimace as Bond pulled away from his hand. “What brings you…” Q frowned as it looked like today was going to be full of interruptions.

“Alec wanted breakfast.” Bond nodded to his left and Q finally saw the strangely manic face of Alec Trevelyan… Terror #2 of MI6 looking out at the darkness flashing by the windows and shuffling through the crowd.

“Ah.” Q said, in a very small voice, as if he kept quiet perhaps 006 wouldn’t see him and he’d keep moving on. Oh God today was just getting worse. 006 was not moving on; in fact he pushed towards them, continuing to take up all the space in the world, helping Bond create a warm little pocket that contained one lone Quartermaster.

“My friends! Mishka, how are you?” Alec lowered his tall frame to put him eye level with Q, who simply glared back at him; at least Alec hadn’t called him by his title in public, although he’d have to get him back for the Mishka bit… somehow.

“And then he had a mind to take the tube into work, versus driving.” Bond continued on, ignoring Alec and gave a slight shudder.

Q tilted his head towards Alec as he spoke to James quietly. “He’s an odd bird, that one.”

“Are you talking about me?” Alec raised his voice to be heard over the noise of the tube and crowd.

“Why? Are your ears burning?” Q asked, eyes looking anywhere else but the hulking human next to him.

“No, I’m not allowed to set fires to anything while I’m in town. Jameska says I mustn’t.”

“Alec,” James drawled out tiredly, as if this was the umpteenth time they’ve had this conversation and he was trained to just say Alec’s name in response. Quite Pavlovian, Q thought.

“What?” Alec shrugged his broad shoulders, bumping into Q and James with the movement, “I still don’t understand why I can’t. What are you gonna do? Tell our boss?”

“Unbelieveable.” James shoved at Alec’s shoulder.

“Right, well.” Q pushed his glasses back up his nose again and looked around; he wasn’t sure if he was looking for an escape, someone he knew that he’d prefer to spend time with, or extra space, either would be welcome right about now. His fingers tapped against the pole in an idle pattern.

“You’re running late,” Alec said, leaning closer to Q. It was insane how much space everyone was giving him, and he was choosing to spend it right on top of Q.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Q said as he looked away, because this would magically make Alec disappear.

“I think you should stop talking Alec.” James said, making his suggestion more of an order.

“Why? I’m not allowed to set fires, but I know I’m allowed to observe that he’s running late.”

A smile lit up Bond’s face. “No doubt Rrrrrrrebecca will have noticed as well,” James said, his voice falling off into a laugh at the end.

“Oh man, is she still chasing people with that jar? Tough luck old man.”

“Well, the two of you are...late as well,” Q interjected, he may as well drag them both down with him.

“We might be pregnant. Congratulate us!” Alec leaned back and clapped one hand hard on James’s shoulder and the other over his belly, throwing himself and James off balance and into the close knit group of passengers; some had caught the exchange and were studiously trying to look like they weren’t staring at Alec’s belly. A few decided to Facebook about the exchange. Q could see their fingers tapping. James elbowed Alec out of his space while muttering various snatches of different languages at his friend.

Q blinked at Alec and then Bond. It was too early (no, scratch that), there was no time on Earth where he would ever be ready to have this sort of conversation. “I’m happy for the both of you, but I suppose it’s best you see a doctor about that.” He turned to look directly at Bond, his gaze dropping to where he’d accidentally knocked into him earlier, and caught his wince, “And for whatever else that seems to be ailing you. There is no cure for mental illness. I can, however, write a recommendation for a private facility located way, way, way, way out of town. It’s lovely. I’m sure you’ll both adore it.”

“Maybe. Not much they can do for a few bruises,” Bond shrugged.

“Mishka, I am insult. My health and mental faculties are booming. Although what kind of facility is this? Will they let me bring my flame thrower? Are the nurses hot? Will they wear that little white uniform and hat?”

Q gaped up at Alec, “You have a…” he stopped as Alec and James were both grinning like loons. “I’m going to install ejector seats on all trains from now own. I feel that I’m going to need them more than I was anticipating, if you two have abandoned four wheeled sports cars in favor of public transportation.” Q tightened his grip around the post and tried to ignore the agents next to him. The Vauxhall stop couldn’t come any sooner. Fortunately for him, the two men kept up a steady stream of small talk, above his head. Footie scores, a variety of nonfiction and fiction books that they had read, and strangely enough, small engine rebuilds. It lulled Q into a sense of calm while they created a small pocket of warmth and shop talk around the Quartermaster.

 

###

 

Q-branch was in full swing when Q hustled in, followed closely and annoyingly by Alec. The minions took a moment to hail the arrival of their Supreme Overlord, Q nodded to them as he passed. He peeked back over his shoulder as Alec’s voice boomed out behind him, “Are you not entertained!?” Q caught sight of Alec, his arms flung wide as he yelled into the mass of hustling humanity. The minions cheered for him; they actually cheered for him. Q looked up at the ancient brick, praying for salvation before he continued on, to check on the various stations near him before he made his way to his office, hoping and hoping that he could avoid R.

The minions grew quiet as Bond entered, his blond head popping up behind Alec’s shoulder. Their happy cries were halted and choked off. Q glanced around. It wasn’t uncommon for the minions to clam up if certain agents came in. Merryn, 004, made everyone nervous: she had that effect, being a deadly, beautiful, and psychotic prankster. The minions never knew who she would target if they looked at her the wrong way.

The silence was beginning to make the two agents nervous, their shoulders tensing, fingers flexing towards holsters, until as one the minions gave an odd salute, holding three fingers up into the air. Q’s eyes nearly rolled out of his skull and out the door at that motion.

“You’re all insane,” he mumbled as he moved deeper and deeper into his branch, aiming now directly for his office. He glanced over his shoulder once and saw that as Bond moved through the minions, those closest to his path were reaching out to gingerly lay a hand upon the edges of his sleeves, small delicate touches, like butterflies hesitant to make contact with a flower. Q completely halted his progress, watching; he tensed, his entire frame whipcord tight as he prepared to step in if Bond reacted badly to the minions odd tribute. Alec reached out and grasped James on the shoulder and leaned forward to murmur in his ear. The flick of his eyes off to the side and a small nod were all that Bond allowed before he was deviating his path and instead began to wind his way through the bulk of the minions until most of them had paid their slightly barmy tribute.

“What is that all about?” Q asked to no one in particular. He gripped the strap of his laptop bag as an odd jealousy crept up the back of his hairline, growing warm under his chest. The minions were all touching Bond without asking permission from 007...or Q. He shook his head; his minions wouldn’t need to ask permission from him, that was a ridiculous thought that he tucked away as one of the senior tech, Schmitt, piped up from near his elbow.

“We had a bet going. Would he survive Skyfall or not? Most of the old timers, like me and Victoria bet on him. The newbies bet against.” Schmitt smiled wickedly at Q, “Vic and I cleaned the losers out.” At Q’s frown, Schmitt hurried on, “We planned on throwing a welcome back party with the collection, any side that won actually. Vic thought it’d be good for team building and morale boosting.”

“You’d have thrown a party had Bond not survived Skyfall…” Q’s soft voice trailed off as his eyes traveled from where Bond was parting the minions to Schmitt.

“Ah, no. We would have chipped in for...um...a nice memorial. Somewhere we could have gone, to remember.” Schmitt cleared his throat. “Anyways, the new guys bet against him, but we knew better. It would take an act of God to end his life. Not that...we think that’ll happen anytime soon but, double-ohs and all agents are on borrowed time. Still, he survives.”

“He does,” Q agrees softly.

“Surprises the hell out of the new people.”

Q looked to Schmitt, his eyebrows raising before he reluctantly admitted his own truth, “Well, it surprises the hell out of me.”

“You’re still new...Q,” Schmitt said, his eyes drifted over Q’s shoulder, “um, I gotta go. Later boss.”

Q frowned at Schmitt’s sudden departure, until he jerked from the sound of metal  
clinking on glass near his ear. Damn. His eyes closed with dread.

R and her jar greeted him. “Alms for the lazy, alms for the lazy.” She clinked her God awful glass jar right in his face.

“Shut it you,” he said, shoving the jar away, but she shoved it right back.

“Hey there 007. You look like shit,” R cheerfully called out into the crowd of adoring minions, “You owe the jar some money. You’re late. And did you bring back your equipment? ‘Course not. What was I thinking.” She poked Bond in the side when he drew near her. He gave a small wince. She poked him harder, which had the minions gasping, Bond glared at her.  
She punched him in the ribs; this time he gave a grunt, jerking away from her. “Go to Medical.”

“I don’t have anything Medical can fix.”

“Well, you’re right about that.” R said in sudden agreement. Bond sagged a fraction in relief that she wasn’t going to force a visit to Medical, but he bristled when she continued, “They can’t fix stupid. 006, you owe the jar some money too.”

Alec crossed his arms and turned a belligerent look on her. “What? Why?”

“The jar is hungry.” R shook the simple glass jar and the coins rattled again.

“Q, your Vice-Overlord is annoying,” Alec grumbled, but he dug around for his wallet anyways. If he didn’t, experience had taught him that R would make his life very, very difficult.

“Yes, and so are you,” Q said, turning back to his office, hoping for that escape...well he wasn’t about to get it.

“A is waiting for you,” R called out from behind him again, this time louder than necessary.

Q sighed; he so didn’t have time for A and her neatly lined up columns of monetary figures. He turned to glare at R. “You couldn’t have handled her?”

“Nope.”

“Traitor.”

“Moneypenny did it. She said the last two authorizations for the funds for these two idiots needed your signature,” R said as she hooked her thumb back to 007 and 006. “For that ruckus they caused in Tanzania and Moscow last year. You know you weren’t budgeted to steal a tank and smash through a military prison 006. And 007...an antique B-52, flown through international airspace without a flight plan and then crashing it? You’re lucky Q was able to erase your tracks so quickly, but someone has to pay for that B-52 and its gas. You’re also lucky to be alive!”

Q turned his glare on 007 and 006. “007, follow me. I need a word with you before I meet with A.” Q walked to the hall that lead to R&D they’d have some privacy since the hall had doors at either end, but not so much that it would be inappropriate. 006 began to follow, Q snapped at him over his shoulder, waving his hand in the empty air between them. “You, stay.”

 

###

 

Bond and Alec exchanged a glance at Q’s sharp command. “I’m not a pet,” Alec grumbled, soft enough only Bond could hear. All that got from him was a grin and a punch to the shoulder.

“The Dark Overlord commands and I must follow,” James whispered, edging towards the hallway. “Maybe you can sweet talk A before he gets in there. See if you can negotiate down to fifty percent of what she’s demanding Q-branch fork over.”

Alec raised an eyebrow as James walked backwards, wiggling his eyebrows. Trevelyan let out a huff of amusement, “Have YOU ever tried to negotiate with her? I don’t know why they keep her as head of Accounting. They should put her in legal.”

James laughed as he turned around, his eyes following the slim figure of the Quartermaster with his baggy clothes and hair like a kraken from the sea, the errant curls waving and twisting in the drafty domain of Q-branch. Q checked over his shoulder, a flash of white passing over his lenses, obscuring his hazel eyes for the moment before he turned back and swiped his card over the security plate. The doors whooshed open, and he stepped to the side to allow Bond to precede him. James used that moment to pass as close to Q as possible; he was only a few inches taller, and Q tilted his head up to meet Bond’s bright blue eyes, which dropped slowly down and back up.

The lapels of Bond’s uber expensive bespoke suit flicked against the edges of Q’s nameless and shapeless anorak that he had picked up for ten quid at a thrift shop. It was unremarkable in appearance, other than it would hold up to the abuse clothing was known to suffer through in Q-branch, and it was warm. Bond slowed as the zipper snagged at the expensive material of his suit and came to a full stop, as if to halt any further damage to said suit. Q opened his mouth, raised a hand to push him along and paused, his hand hanging in mid air. Bond had reached up and took hold of the lapel of the anorak with one finger, pushing the zipper away and tugging just slightly so, as if leading him on a leash...or collar, Q thought. He shook himself from the thought. Never mind. He allowed the odd moment before following behind, the door closing behind them.

R turned from the sight, to meet 006’s eyes. She waggled her eyebrows, but Alec only held both his hands up and shook his head. “Huh,” R said. “You wouldn’t be holding out on me, would you?”

“I know as much as you do, which is nothing.”

“Hey, I know more than nothing, bonehead. You gonna go see A? You know that won’t work,” R said, turning back to her screen setup.

“You know it won’t, I know it won’t, but it won’t hurt to keep her company while those two ignore her. If she has to wait longer, I imagine the figures will magically become larger.”

R snorted, “No doubt. All right, good luck. I’ll send them in when they come back out.” She flicked her gaze up and back, “If they come back out.” Alec waved and then made a beeline for Q’s office. R smiled as she could hear Alec’s voice booming out, happy to see A, followed by A’s tired voice cautiously greeting him.

Q finally batted Bond’s hand away. “Are you alright?” he asked, cutting to the point.

Bond’s fingers found their way back to his coat. Q absentmindedly twitched and flicked at Bond’s wandering hands, determined to get to the bottom of Post-Skyfall Bond. An emotional agent was a volatile agent, and he couldn’t risk Bond going out damaged mentally or physically.

Q frowned up once, as the hands kept wandering. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked, feeling repetitive. He gently slapped the hands away again; Q suspected Bond was injured. Whether it was due to Skyfall or something else entirely, he didn’t know. “I’m serious about going to Medical. R punched you and you reacted. You’re hurt. What happened? It’s too long after Skyfall...” Q’s voice skipped as the ice blue eyes of the agent fiddling with his parka met his, and his fingers stilled. At the inquiry, Bond removed his hands from Q’s person. Q leaned forward absently, chasing the touch. He mentally shook himself and bit out once more, “Bond what happened?”

Bond turned a grin, white as snow, his teeth bared against a chill that wasn’t in the air as he leaned slightly forward. “I did what I always do.” He waited, waited, waited, daring Q with his eyes.

“And what is that?” Q asked, “Cause a ruckus with your deviant antics?” His breath blew out in a huff, puffing his fringe away from his eyes.

“Resurrection.”

Q’s mind ticked back to a desperate sun-filled day when a rogue agent had been taunting a very tired and dangerous 007. It was foolish of Silva to have let him go from the ropes that bound him, but once prodded to the question, over his distress radio Q had heard the same one word remark. Resurrection.

“It’s better to burn out than fade away...” Q’s voice trailed away at the thought.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be a Neil Young fan, Q.”

Q smiled. “More of a mythological creatures and Nirvana fan than Neil Young. He’s more your speed isn’t he.”

“Perhaps Nirvana is,” Bond drawled, he gave a small uptick to the side of his lips, his blue eyes crinkling as Q studied him. “Their live performances were something else.”

“I have to say, you’d be absolutely terrifying at a Nirvana concert. How…” Q looked at him curiously, waiting, waiting.

“Felix got us tickets one year.” Bond’s eyes fogged over at the brief memory.”

“Us?” Q asked, even more curious now.

Bond smiled crookedly down at him, “Alec and I were in the States at the same time, and there was a concert nearby. Felix got them as a reward for a job well done.” Bond’s smile widened as Q stood there looking incredulous.

“Hang on,” Q said, holding a long fingered hand up. “I need a moment to envision you, Alec, AND Mr. Leiter at a Nirvana concert.”

Bond studied the still raised hand, eyeing it as a hawk might eye the little rabbit it might like to pluck from the ground with its talons. As prey recognized predator, Q quickly withdrew his hand to within his own sphere of influence.

“So what are these injuries from, if not Skyfall?” Q asked again, trying to get the conversation back on track.

Bond looked away briefly before returning to Q’s person and then the hallway beyond. “I told you, resurrection.” He watched as a freight load of data passed through Q’s mind, flicking past his eyes in a sea of mental ticker tape.

“One day,” Q said softly, “You’ll have to tell me how you do that.” This statement, as facetious and softly said as Q had done it, seemed to set Bond off into further agitation. A handmade rough through years in the naval service followed by pulling the trigger again and again for MI6, ruffled the short bristles of his blond hair before smoothing them out.

“Another day, another turn of the wheel,” Bond said, “And oh how MI6 turns. As long as I come back to fight and die for Queen and country, what does it matter how I come back? I told you I have nothing Medical could fix.” Bond started pacing away. Q’s hand shot out and gripped his arm, the bony digits digging in painfully into Bond’s forearm. Bond snarled; with one trap and strike, he could break the hand, the wrist, the arm, leaving the Quartermaster broken like all the other people he couldn’t save. God dammit, he could save his own sorry hide, over and over and over and over and over again, but never anyone else. His snarl died down at the idea of a broken Quartermaster. Q watched him warily, but refused to let him go until Bond met his eyes.

“Dismissed,” Q said calmly, his hand opening before even he tempted fate further and ended up at the wrong receiving end of an agitated, deadly agent.

“Uppity little thing, aren’t you,” Bond murmured.

“I only care that you’re in one piece.”

“I’m human Q, not one of your bloody pieces of machinery. A heart may tick, but it’s not made out of metal.”

As Bond retreated to the door leading back to the main section of Q-branch, Q’s voice halted his progress. “Some of the minions bet you’d survive Skyfall. Some of them bet against you.” He watched as Bond’s smile flashed white in the dark.

“Did they? You’ll have to tell me which ones bet against me.”

“They don’t know you. No one does, really,” Q said. It didn’t come out petulantly, but thoughtfully as he studied the tops of his shoes. He sensed Bond’s halt in the hallway before the door rather than saw it. “How do you do that? Walk away unscathed like that?”

“Do I seem so unscathed? I’m not a monster or machine Q, only…” His words trailed off because he himself wondered if he WAS still human, power notwithstanding. He left the hallway, silently, leaving an equally silent Q behind him.

“Look beneath the surface and he bleeds from many wounds,” Q murmured. He sighed and hefted his laptop bag up on his shoulder before he waded back out into MI6 reality to deal with A and the burden of absorbing what the cost was of a double-oh agent.


	4. Time Waits For No One, Not Even Little White Rabbits Followed by Silly Girls in Pinafores

At the end of his meeting with A, Q slammed out of his office. The culprit of his ire, slowly following, her pleated skirt swishing about her knees. Without stopping, Q strode up to R’s workstation; she glanced at him briefly before going back about her business.

“Got a problem?” R asked, as she tucked a strand of bright orange hair behind her ear.

“Yes.” Q muttered.

R looked around to see what could have ruffled Q’s feathers and saw his petite shadow, A, who was stuck close to his elbow, grinning up at her. “Oh, A’s not a problem. Did you get your money’s worth out of Q?” R asked, hooking her thumb at Q to punctuate her statement.

“Oh yes. Drinks later?” A asked, her neat bun bobbing as she jumped a bit to give R a high five.

“Yup, oh wait, nope, I can go for a bite for a bit, and then I have to be back,” R said, she stuck her tongue out.

Q frowned at R; he was late to the testing labs due to A’s sudden appearance and demand for blood money. “What do you need to come back here for?”

R leaned back against her station and smiled her shark like grin at Q. “Cuz, big boy is going out again.”

A groaned at the remark and muttered something about endless paperwork and money burning holes in someone’s trousers. She took her leave of R, exiting as swiftly as possible, her stylus tapping and tattooing the surface of her tablet.

Q sighed, “I am unaware of what big boy is, but I know what little boy is. Quit talking in riddles R, give it to me straight.”

“Tanner just sent down an equipment order: 007 is going back out. Joy!”

Q shook his head, “It’s not a good idea to send him back out after he just resurfaced.”

R shifted her weight and shook her head at Q, “You know when he acts up… or out, should I say, the higher ups find a way to punish him, and this is it. Mallory’s chomping at the bit to look good to his own Supreme Overlords. It doesn’t look good to have a double-oh wandering off and disappearing whenever the fuck he wants, does it?”

“There’s only so much Psych can do for the agents at this level, you know that. If 007 needs space, why can’t he take it? We get vacation time.”

R looked at him like he lost his mind. “When was the last time you took a vacation?”

“Oh. Yeah. Um.”

“Uh huh,” R said, sarcastically.

“Still, proves my point. When do the double-ohs take any vacation time? Spending three weeks in Minsk freezing over a sniper rifle or stealing a trainful of unexploded land mines is hardly relaxing,” Q said primly.

“Yeah, well the lazy bum can still fill out the proper paperwork request. Just like the rest of us have to,” R said, slamming her hand down on a stack of paper, then lifting it up to shake it at Q.

“Aw, R, look at you, wanting to turn 007 into a proper agent,” Q teased, smiling at her.

“Aw, Q, look at you, favoring your favorite agent.” R waggled her eyebrows at him and flicked him in the middle of his stunned forehead. “Don’t you have work to do?”

Q huffed his annoyance at her and snatched up the rest of his gear before making haste to the R&D section of Q-branch; he looked at his watch and cursed his morning. Late again, very late again for the experimental ordinance set up in the testing labs.

Q arrived too late to the testing labs to supervise or go over the set up of the miniaturized explosives he was working on with one of the new hires. The tech was rubbing her hands together with anticipation, and at the first sight of Q, proceeded to babble rapidly at the Quartermaster, cutting still further into the time Q had available to witness the testing. He rushed around with the trailing tech continuing to talk at him, some of it sinking in, some of it not. He glanced briefly over everything, but accidents do happen when you’re distracted. Q was curious to see the results of the eager tech’s hard labor… it was soon to be the climactic finish to the start of a life changing event.

The tech, along with Q, had recently been working on an updated set of micro explosives that would fit within an agent's watch with the capability of being detonated by the agent or remotely by Q-branch. No, he was not using this as an excuse to continue saying HE wasn’t making an exploding pen for a certain irritating agent. This would be helpful to all agents. They kept pushing and advancing the prototypes; this was their fifth generation, and it was even trickier than their first attempts.

The prototype explosive device failed to detonate, and in a moment of forgetfulness or a combination of familiarity with the devices and unfamiliarity with protocols, the tech immediately hustled out to snap up the offending object with her bare hands. Q rushed out and yanked the tech back towards the protective wall built for observation while slapping the device violently from of her hands and out of the containment zone, where it finally decided to work properly.

When the explosion finished, Q had been thrown back across the testing lab. He had flung his arms up in a protective gesture and felt debris slashing through his clothes to embed themselves into his forearms. He gave a small cry, despairing at the pain and damage to his hands, the implications that he may have prematurely ended his career in espionage. The pain turned into panic as what felt like a million little pieces of glass tried desperately to burrow themselves deep within his arms.

The lights flickered, the alarms sounded, a cacophonous noise stunning Q with the sudden onslaught against his ear drums. After Silva’s attack on MI6’s headquarters, explosions weren’t taken as lightly, whereas when Boothroyd would have set off dozens of explosions within a day, he could have gotten away with but a few spluttered coughs, hands waving smoke away and a stumbling apology to M. Since the start of his reign, Q had updated all safety protocols and procedures. Unless controlled for experiments, explosions hardly happened outside of their containment fields.

Q attempted to cover his head, but when he tried to move, it just sent pain shooting through his arms. He twisted, scratched and pulled, screamed even, but the novice tech, who had only been knocked a bit askew from the blast, kept pulling his hands away, trying to mistakenly keep Q from damaging himself. The longer the tech kept Q’s hands away from his open wounds, the longer his hidden pets were allowed to worm their way into his system.

He had no idea what had been destroyed in the blast, other than his arms, but the pets, the Nanobots! They could be washing out, down the drain! Hours and hours of work and taxpayers money, literally down the drain! The second project accidentally tagging along that the tech didn’t know about, was something of a teeny, tiny experiment Q was working on in conjunction with the Smart Blood program. The Smart Blood was still in developmental stages, and no one was aware of this off shoot, along with several others that were lurking within the depths of Q-branch. He had been curious about the applications aside from tracking agents. He wanted to modify an agent’s current poison delivery system to inject a small amount of biomolecular nanobots into a mark.

These nanobots would contain a program that would be able to remotely hack into any computer or smartphone within a certain proximity; distance was affected by the size and density of human tissue, but if activated by the agents or remotely activated by Q-branch, then Q could have ultimate control over the devices. The size of the nanobots wasn’t up to Q’s expectations; they were far too large and unwieldy: as small as a pinhead right now, but he had hopes of making them smaller. Currently, most of what remained of Boothroyd’s pet projects weren’t officially funded or acknowledged by upper management. Q had continued to keep them that way and when he became overworked and frustrated, he fiddled with them in secrecy. Several vials of the nanobots were stored in mislabeled containers throughout the testing lab they were in, when Q’s day was literally shot to hell.

“For God’s sake Myrna, get off me, get off! Let go, let go! Get off me!” Q tried to fight the panicked tech, but that just seemed to make her more apologetic and kept trying to peel Q like an onion to find his injuries. The sprinkler systems came on, spraying stale water everywhere. “No, no no!” Q yelled again; he heard the water raining down and the sound of it going down the drains.

 

###

 

M, interrupted in his meeting with Bond and Trevelyan, had frozen at the alarms going off on his desk, Moneypenny came rushing into his office and with one word, “Q-branch,” had all three men on their feet.

“006, 007, check it out personally. I want to know if this is a threat or a serious breach in laboratory protocols. Moneypenny, get me Q,” M ordered. James and Alec turned on their heels at once, jogging out of M’s lair when they heard Moneypenny’s voice trail off. “That was R. Q was at the center of the explosion.” James and Alec looked at each other once, blue meeting green as they simultaneously let out one curse word between them before taking off at a dead run to the staircases, flinging themselves down, the elevators off limits for now. They shoved agents, secretaries, and various employees to the side.

“Make a hole!” Alec shouted down the stairs.

They dove head first into Q-branch. Minions were scurrying here and there, trying to stabilize experiments, computers, maintaining contact with active agents, but something had shorted out their comms. R stood at the center, bellowing like an angry alpha cow at the panicked minions, trying to get them back under some semblance of control and organization.

She spun when the main doors opened and saw 006 and 007 run through it, her orange hair flared out around her as she did another about face and, without wasting words, pointed down the hall that lead to R&D. “Testing Lab 6! Experimental ordinance.”

“Fuck,” Alec swore. He kept one eye on the door and then glanced back down to James, who sucked in a breath at the idea of another broken body.

“R,” James said over his shoulder. “Contact M. Tell him what you know.” R shook her head at him.

“I don’t know much, I have other priorities and protocol says to wait for the bomb squad. Medical is on their way.” She shrugged with her hands before getting swallowed up by another wave of panicked minions. “GET IT TOGETHER! THIS IS Q-BRANCH YOU UNDESERVING LEMMINGS OF THE NAME OF MINIONS. USE THOSE BEAUTIFUL BRAINS THAT ARE FOUND BETWEEN YOUR EARS AND WORK THE PROBLEM. FIND THE SOLUTION!”

Alec looked to James wide-eyed. “Do we dare...oh hell, well, yeah I guess we do.” He shook his head at James’s swiftly retreating back, jogging to catch up.

“No, Alec, wait here! Remember, I can handle this if something happens. I’ll go check it out and let you know if it’s safe to proceed.”

Alec’s lips thinned, but he knew it would be safer for James to approach where the blast had gone off rather than him.

“Q?” Bond yelled down the smoking hallway. He heard nothing, so continued moving forward. The hallway and rooms had been evacuated; it was smoky, noisy with the alarm going off. He called out again as he moved forward, reading the signs to Lab 6. He stopped when he heard Q’s frantic screaming and yelling, along with the water coming out from under the testing lab door. “Q!” Bond yelled again as he pounded on the door. It wouldn’t open by normal means; he turned and saw the electronic keypad. He punched in his own access code but was denied. He pounded on the door again and tried to yell through it. “Fuck. Q! Q is there fire? Is it contained? I need to open the door. If it’s safe, tell me the code!” He threw his shoulder against it once, but it wouldn’t budge. He pressed his ear against the door, hearing nothing but the pounding of his own heart, wait...he could hear a muffled scraping sound. Raising his voice again, Bond bellowed through the door, “Q, open the damn door!” He jerked back as something slammed against the door. Beeping could be heard and then the pressure seals popped, the door sliding open. He ducked to the side, quickly covering his head as he hoped that any fire was out before the idiot opened it. No sudden burst of flames greeted him. He rounded the doorjamb to find himself face to face with a very pale tech who looked a bit burnt about the edges.

“He’s in here, he’s in here, Oh God, Oh God I didn’t... It didn’t go off, I...I...where are the medics?” The tech stammered and started, ignored by Bond as he pushed his way through to his Quartermaster. He pulled himself up short, stunned at the state of the lab. The room was a smoky, charred mess. It looked like the experimental ordinance that Q and the tech had been handling went off outside of the specialized containment field. Q was crumpled on the white tiled floor, the water around him, pink with his blood. It ran off to the drains.

“Shit,” Bond said, he hurried forward and started prodding at Q, trying to find his pulse, where the source of the bleeding was coming from, and if he could stop it. “Alec! ALEC!” Bond yelled out, his voice carrying down the hallway. His fingers pressing, seeking, searching desperately for the beating life of the Quartermaster. Q’s skin was paler than usual. One swollen eye opened, a slit of green, glasses askew, and Bond wondered how much of him he could see.

“He got hit by a lot of shrapnel,” the tech said unhelpfully.

“Shut up and sit down or go lead the medics down here,” Bond snapped, ignoring the girl, who ran out following his orders. He turned back to Q, “I hope you dock the damage to my suit from her paycheck.” He didn’t expect a response, but he felt a puff of air come from Q.

“You’re too expensive,” Q mumbled. He moved his arms away from Bond’s exploring hands. “Ow, quit it.” Bond didn’t quit, he carried on and gently snagged Q’s hands and examined them. There were a few marks of shrapnel entry around Q’s temples, but most of it had ended up in his arms and hands. Bond gave a wince; he knew that pain.

“Help is coming, hang on.” Bond took his jacket off and draped it over Q to protect him from the water and help prevent shock. He looked up at the sprinklers. “Anything we can do about that?”

“R,” Q’s voice slurred out before he jerked away from Bond. Alec had popped up over James’s shoulder, surprising him, his shadow falling over their miserable little corner.

“Mishka, you look terrible,” Alec said in way of helping.

Q laughed, groaned from the pain, and then laughed again as he could hear Alec speaking to Bond in Russian. Hopefully Medical would come soon; he wasn’t sure how much more of his dignity he could afford to lose. Apparently the two agents had decided something between them, and Bond scooped Q off the floor. In a moment of unbalance, he swung his arms out, dislodging Bond’s jacket and smacking one against Bond’s chest. He let out a small cry of pain, until Alec daintily snagged him by a space on his wrist, free of shrapnel or less shrapnel and gently tucked his arms down safely under Bond’s jacket. With damaged hands and arms, Q didn’t know how long he would be out of commission.

Q was bundled out of the room, the pale faced Junior Tech shadowing the two agents. Q was brought out into the brightly lit main room of Q-branch, where the minions all but swarmed them before R managed to unleash the whip in her voice and cracked it down around them, bringing order to the chaos. The medics arrived; with them also came yelling and arms and legs where there shouldn’t be arms and legs as they gently but firmly removed him from the careful cradle of Bond’s arms. The noise and pain of being jostled suddenly was completely overwhelming and he curled everything he had inwards; he was a bony little clam. It took what felt like forever to pry him open. He hadn’t realized he had wedged a hand under the buttons of Bond’s shirt, his fingers digging into the thick muscles of Bond’s chest, until the medics had to carefully manipulate his fingers open. Bond remained quiet, trying not to bark at everyone as they tried to help the Quartermaster. He doggedly stayed steady and willingly sacrificed a few buttons and scraps of skin to the health of his Quartermaster. Alec’s deep voice rumbled out again, over Q’s head in Russian and Bond responded. Just as the medics finally managed to give him something for the pain before they transferred him, Q managed one word.  
“Спасибо.”


	5. A Tangled Web is What We Weave When We Pull Our Yarn From the Wrong End, Because We're Lazy Fucks

It had been a rough few days since Q’s accident in the labs. He was finally going to be allowed to go home. If they’d have let him near his laptop, he would have rigged it so that he could have left earlier or at least have access to Q-branch. They wouldn’t give him anything digital because they had yet to unwrap the bandages from around his hands. He was part mummy from the elbows down. The doctors had said they managed to get as much of the shrapnel out and attributed the strange shocks of pain that burned, running up and down his arms to his shoulders and along the back of his neck to nerve damage. At those two words, “nerve damage” Q nearly panicked and ripped off his bandages to get at the problem.

It was only with the doctor’s careful reassurances and the strength of the nurses that kept him contained. They left him alone, to rest and recuperate. They forgot that with an active mind as Q’s was, sitting partially mummified in the middle of Medical, surrounded by beeping machines, tubes and the occasional soap opera on the telly would make him crawl the wall or at least, take it apart. Q began peeling at his bandages so he could tear the remote control to the stupid television apart, just to give him something to focus on. He was so absorbed in trying to peel the bandages, that he didn’t hear his visitor come in.

Bond stood staring down at the dark, interminable bed head that was muttering away, his fingernails scratching at the remote control. He noticed the fraying along the edges of the bandages near Q’s fingers. Their neat wrapping was disturbed around his hands, the rest was wound tight up to his elbows, with some bandaging along his hairline. Q didn’t seem to notice him, so he wasn’t restraining his vocabulary. It was coming out quick and dirty, a veritable rainbow of profanity. Bond let the colorful invectives flow around him, made so much more filthy and exciting as they were spoken in Q’s soft voice. His eyebrows shot to the top of his head at the last one.

“I’m pretty sure one can’t do that to a remote, no matter how dextrous one is. Besides that, it’s probably illegal,” Bond said, smiling his lopsided grin as Q’s head shot up, green eyes wide with surprise. He looked so young to be sitting there cross legged on the rumpled white hospital bedding, with his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration. Q’s muttering ceased; he tipped to the side to look past Bond, frowned, and the youthfulness disappeared only to be replaced by the cares and worries of the head of Q-branch.

“Bond. What on earth are you doing in Medical?” Q asked. He tipped to one side again to look behind the agent. Bond turned as well, raising one eyebrow in expectation for the quip he knew was coming, he wasn’t disappointed. “Willingly, I should note. Is there a new pretty nurse, a splinter in your finger, maybe?”

“No,” Bond said, striding further into the room and snagging the poor, tortured remote from Q’s hands. He turned around to walk back to the foot of the bed, carefully snapping the remote into one piece, “I did hear that there was a very pretty, new Quartermaster in the area. Thought I’d take a chance and see if he was up for a visit.” Bond glanced up to see a bit of a blush cross Q’s face before he raised a hand to push his glasses back up his nose. Bond intercepted at just the right moment, getting there before Q, who went a bit cross eyed at the move. Q leaned back a bit, unsure what to say in the silence.

“Thank you,” Q said, for lack of anything else to say.

Bond sat at the foot of the bed, so he wouldn’t tower over Q and waved the remote at him, “No problem. Here, I figured I should at least make it a challenge for you later.”

Q laughed, “You put it back together!”

“Yes?” Bond asked.

“Normally, I’m the one putting your equipment back together after you’ve destroyed it, if you bring it back. This is a refreshing turn of events.”

“Perhaps I’ll apply for the position of Quartermaster if it opens.”

Q looked sharply at Bond, his humor gone. “Have you heard something?”

Surprised, Bond’s eyes widened. “No, no. Joking Q, just a joke. Apparently a bad one. No one blames you for the explosion. R reviewed the camera feeds, and your tech violated all security protocols. I think R’s mostly mad that you thought the tech was worth saving. Even M’s a little perturbed at that. Moneypenny said something about Darwinism although that same statement could be applied to you.” Bond tried to gentle his words with a smile.

Q heaved a sigh. “Yes, it could. We both acted in the heat of the moment, so to speak.” Bond merely looked at him and did not laugh. Q fiddled with the remote uncomfortably. “It’s a bad pun, I know. Only one I could think of at the moment. Oh, right, did you need something? Sorry, you probably wouldn’t have come all the way to Medical without a purpose. R is seeing to your equipment I suppose. Is there a problem?

“No problem. R’s work is impeccable, second only to you. The minions say hello by the way. They said that they’ll stop hazing the new girl when you’re released. I think she’s learned her lesson.”

Q groaned and threw himself back on the bed wincing as his head hit the pillow. “They mean well, they do.” He tilted his head to glare at Bond. “If only someone hadn’t nicknamed them. It went to their heads. Ugh.” Q lifted his hands to rub his face, only to frown at the horrid bandages, realizing he wouldn’t be able to do it without hurting himself… his face pinkened at the memory of the sponge baths the nurses had given him. He knew the agents hated staying in Medical; he wondered if this was part of the reason why: lukewarm rushed wiping of the important parts with a bit of soap and a rough, white flannel. Q made a face.

“What’s that look for?” Bond asked. “Should I go? Do I need to get someone?”

“No, it’s fine. Just anticipating bath time.” Q shuddered. A bright smile blossomed across the agent’s face.

“The Supreme Overlord fears the attentions of the nurses and their sponge baths,” Bond chuckled. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Q made nonsensical grumbling noises. “Go ahead, laugh at my misfortune.”

“I would never. As it happens, 006 and I are the only ones allowed anywhere near Q-branch at the moment. R’s so pissed. So I’ve been tasked, no, begged by the minions, to find out your condition and report back. Come now, they won’t accept anything but the truth.”

“I’m fine. Better than fine, but the Doctors won’t let me out.”

“You took quite a hit with the odd bits and bobs lying about the lab. When’s the last time the cleaning lady was in?”

“Never,” Q said mournfully, “We can’t afford a cleaning lady, what with all the agents taking up all of Q-branch’s budget.”

“How’re the hands?” Bond asked, getting down to the nitty gritty that of course everyone had been asking about.

Q tucked them self consciously around his chest, Bond made note of the movement and accompanying wince, “They’ll heal, it’ll be fine Bond. You can tell M that and the minions. Just a bit of pain, of course, that’s normal. As you said there was a lot of debris that went flying, the Doctors got most of it out.”

“Most of it?” Bond asked, eyes flicking between the bandages on his arms and head. Q mumbled something he couldn’t hear under his breath.

“What was that?” Bond leaned forward, trying to catch the words.

“There were very small experiments in that lab, most of them hard to detect with the naked eye, so the Doctor’s got as much as they could without the special equipment Q-branch has that could detect them.”

Bond’s eyebrows rose back up to his hairline, “Will they be able to remove these pieces now that you’re awake and can tell them what to look for?” Bond waited for an answer, but Q looked embarrassed and nervous at the same time.

“I can’t. It was a side project, most of what’s in me is so classified, I shouldn’t even be telling you, but they’re harmless.” He rushed on hurriedly to stop Bond from interrupting him, “It was a Medical/bio project. They’re harmless in my system. It’s okay.” He let out a breath as Bond leaned back into his original place.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am. Just residual pain from being almost blown up, dealing with shrapnel and a headache. Hit my head at some point in there as well. It’ll all go away soon and then I can get unhooked from this medieval torture device.” Q shook his arms, tugging at his I.V. lines. "Speak of the devil.”

A nurse rapped on the door, asking permission to come in. She checked his lines and refilled the I.V bag.

“Is it bathtime? Well, I have come at the right time.” James winked at the nurse, who rolled her eyes. It was Sandy, one of the matriarchs of the ward; she’d put up with all the agents at one time or the other. “Tell me Sandy, now that you’ve seen his backside, how does it compare to mine?”

A very undignified noise came out of Q’s nose. “Really. Fishing for compliments. Don’t answer that Sandy. No, no I take that back. Answer him, but be truthful, and tell him mine’s better looking.”

“I’ll change out your bandages before we start.” Sandy said, she refused to dignify any of their remarks with a comment of her own, she began to unwrap Q’s bandages from his head, some of the tape sticking to his hair. Bond winced along with Q as she pulled some hair out along with the tape.

“Sorry,” Sandy murmured as she pulled and snipped to remove it all. “And yes, James, you have come just in time for the daily bathing of the Quartermaster. Did you want to help?” She focused on unwrapping Q’s hands; they were pale and now pockmarked with red scars, stitches, and burns.

Bond barked a laugh out at the stricken look that passed over Q’s face. “Liar. You said you had a great backside. Don’t be embarrassed now. Sandy’s seen it.”

“Sandy?” Q asked in his most gentle voice.

“Yes?” She said just as quietly, looking down at him.

“I’m going to need your biggest needle and a good dose of morphine. I don’t want him to feel what I’m going to do to him,” Q threatened softly.

Sandy merely blinked at him. She turned to Bond who was still shaking with mirth, “Huh, didn’t realize you were up for that sort of action James. To each his own. I’ll be right back with your sponge bath supplies.”

“I hate you.” Q yelled out the door as Sandy left. Bond gave a cough to cover his laugh at her disappearing back. “See, a little worse for wear, but I’ll live.” Q gave a little wiggle to his fingers, the motion causing the pain to shoot up his arms. He was so focused on examining his own scars and burns that he didn’t notice Bond had gotten so close until he looked up into a pair of crystalline blue eyes. “Um, see?” Q asked. Bond merely hmmed and went back to visually inspecting Q’s arms and head. “Nosy,” Q grumbled as Bond lifted a few pieces of Q’s hair to examine the wounds around his scalp. “Shove off.”

“Bond,” Sandy barked, hustling back into the room, sponge bath supplies in hand and an orderly following her. “You know better than to mess with healing wounds. Out.” She thumbed over to the door and the open hallway beyond it.

“They’re going to let me out tomorrow, but can’t it happen today? I’ll shower when I get home,” Q pleaded, eyeing the harsh towels.

“No.” Sandy said.

“Oh. Then I suppose you really should go Bond.”

Q looked so sad to see his sponge bath that Bond almost grew a heart three sizes too big to find a way to stop Sandy from bathing the scrawny excuse for a Quartermaster, but it wasn’t really his place and what was he going to do? Bathe Q instead? Bond paused, the thought did have merit. He’d always been a tactile person and Q was the least tactile person he’d come across. Always moving out of the way, side stepping or swatting at hands on his person. As strange as it may have sounded, Bond also got a feel for people, just by… using his survival skills to read them. There was something you couldn’t translate that was found in the skin and muscles that wasn’t in the eyes. The face and brain might lie, but the body, rarely. Q was an interesting contradiction, sharp yet soft, hard and yielding, but never weak.

“If you want a hand Q, just say the word.” Bond smiled down, picking up one of the flannels, only to have it snatched back by Sandy.

“Out you,” she said and shoved him towards the door. “Stop torturing him.”

Q gave a half-hearted smile and shrugged one shoulder as he started to tug his arms gently out of the hospital gown. It fell to his waist as he frowned up at Sandy when she removed his glasses without asking permission, and he continued to frown at her. As Bond turned from the doorway, he caught a glimpse of sleek muscles moving and bunching together under skin bleached of color by 24/7 interior lighting and too many night shifts. There was nothing bulky, effeminate or epicene about Q. It was more that there was something intriguing about the perpetual, youthful vibrancy about his lean frame, and that’s all any agent worth his salt was good at, adapting to that which is different. A passing nurse glared at him as a slight smile occupied his face at the thought of waiting until the Quartermaster was back on his own two feet, before trying to metaphorically knock him off them again. After all, never let it be said that he wasn’t a fair man.


	6. Loose Lips Sink Ships, Planes, Trains and Automobiles and Basically Anything That Moves or What Do You Do With a Quartermaster Who Stops Being a Quartermaster and Tries To Be a Hero

Loose lips sink ships, and MI6 was careful about the news regarding the injury to their Quartermaster. According to official records, Q had applied for a leave of absence, eating up some of his vacation time that had piled up. No mention of the explosion or his stay in Medical was whispered outside of Q-branch. R had her finger on the RED BUTTON OF DOOM if she smelled a rat; there wasn’t a place you could hide.

When Q was finally able to leave Medical, there was a small contingent of agents winding around him like cats as they followed him home. He had briefly studied them, looking for one certain menace, but 007 was missing from the security detail. The feeling of disappointment was both a surprise and quite a bit more intense than he had expected. He slumped down into the wheelchair that Sandy refused to let him out of as she pushed him outside; the agents spread out attempting to blend in and hide the fact that they were trying not to smile at the sight of a very rumply, MI6 tracksuit clad Quartermaster. Q’s death ray glare around the exit to Medical burned into each and every one of them the infinite number of consequences that might befall them were they to even think about smiling.

The drive back to his home was uneventful, a small mercy, and he was dropped off with one of them to escort him up to his door and clear his domicile of any security risks. Gerald, 009, was a nice enough fellow. He brought most of his equipment back, slightly cracked but mostly repairable. His specialty was looking unintimidating. He was smaller in stature than the other agents; his suits were cut loose, to hang slightly big on his frame. Faded red hair and a cherub like face floated over a very, very dangerous and deadly man. Q trusted him to behave in his house and he liked cats.

On his way up, they came across Old Mrs. Mac, walking Bernard as an excuse to spy and gossip. Q briefly considered that she might actually be on MI6’s payroll, and if not, she’d make a superb addition. Gerald took the moment to speak pleasantly to the woman and play nice with Bernard, the Maltese, earning him a smile from Old Mrs. Mac, before it changed into a glower for Q.

Aside from the occasional strange bang or pop that came from his house, he didn’t think he had made an unpleasant neighbor, but apparently, anyone who breathed was too loud for Old Mrs. Mac to tolerate. Q sighed, waiting for Gerald to clear his house. He came back in from the garage, with a very big grin on his face.

“A Harley-Davidson WLA! What year?” Gerald asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, where Q was pottering around.

Q turned, with his own impressed look to the agent. “1941.”

“God she’s gorgeous. Does she run?”

Q nodded. “Oh yeah, does she ever, I don’t get to take her out that much anymore. I’ve been slowly restoring her for ages now. One day I’ll take her back out again, give her a proper go. Everything check out okay?”

“Yes sir, everything looks to be in order. No sign of entry forced or otherwise except for us now, and for when I was taking care of the kitties. Dust never lies. Nothing looked to be disturbed, locks all set and tight. You okay to set your security again?” At Q’s nod, Gerald clapped him on the shoulder gently, “I’ll take my leave then. Get well, and see you in the office soon.”

Q bit down on the wince that Gerald’s friendly goodbye gave him; he ground his teeth together. Whatever the doctors had given him for the pain only barely seemed to keep the edge off of it. It almost seemed as though whatever it was that was in his system was either fighting the medication or the pain was actually increasing. Q panicked at the thought that he may have inadvertently done more damage to his system than he had let the doctors and Bond know. He looked around his empty flat, save for the cats who were hiding somewhere. He called out, “Hey boys, miss me?”

Turpentine and Grommet slunk down the stairs and ran into the kitchen, winding their way around Q’s ankles, he reached down to pet them but they skittered back at the sight of the bandages. Q kept still, and eventually Turpentine came forward to sniff and butt his head against Q’s hand. He slid to the ground and reached for his babies. “I missed you too.”

###

The pain slowly increased throughout the day, but Q could do nothing else but take the recommended meds; anything more and they’d find him an unconscious blubbery, brainless mess on the floor. He wasn’t sure if his brain was trying to give birth or if he was going to throw up, but either way, something wanted to come out, and he didn’t know what. He spent the day curled miserably on the floor of his bathroom, wrapped in his duvet, forehead pressed against the cold tile, trying to find some relief. His cats were curled in the hollow of his belly, purring to keep him company. Grommet would get up on occasion and check him out by butting against his head.

Q groaned at the sound of knocking on his door. “Dammit,” he said, “Dammit, dammit, dammit.” He decided to ignore it, he wouldn’t die if he missed signing for a package. The knocking wouldn’t let up and led to pounding. “Alright, alright!” he hissed. His cats hissed as he disturbed their nesting place by dragging the duvet along with him. “What?” he yelled when he got to the living room. His head got very angry at him and made him take a moment to think about what he’d just done, so he nearly missed hearing his visitor speak.

“Q?”

“Oh crap,” Q said, he slid down to the floor. Turpentine and Grommet cat-piled on him one more time. “It’s Bond.”

“Q! I know you’re in there.”

Q decided it would be best for everyone if he didn’t open the door, so he remained silent, which was not the best idea he’s ever had, but hey, pounding headaches were never his favorite things to deal with.

“Stop being stubborn,” Bond continued, “Open the door. Your neighbor lady is staring at me out of her window.” Silence met his order. “I can get in without you.”

Q called out faintly, better give him something so that he’d go away. “I can shock you if you try.”

“Q,” Bond said through gritted teeth, frowning at the door.

“Bond. See I can play this game too. You don’t return equipment, I don’t open doors.”

Bond knocked harder. “Open. The. Door.”

Q would have laughed at their foolish stand off if he wasn’t so miserable. “Go away. Your assistance is neither needed or wanted.” He stood up and waddled the rest of the way to the kitchen so he wouldn’t have to yell anymore.

“You petulant child, let me in.” Bond stepped back, “Or I’ll huff and I’ll puff…”

Q finally cracked a bit of a grin, faint as it was, “Ha ha ha, make me.” He waited for a reply and wasn’t disappointed.

“You forget who you’re talking to?”

Arrogant bastard, Q thought, “You forget who YOU’RE talking to? My cats are trained killers Bond; your suits won’t make it out alive. At my command they’ll slaughter your silk.”

Bond spared a grin at the fighting remark. Q wasn’t going to budge on opening the door, but he sounded healthy. Maybe he had just come at an inopportune time. James would find another way. He pressed his ear against the door. “Alright. You know my number…”

“007.” Q slouched, happy from the reprieve he was getting.

“Quite. Call if you need anything.” Bond grew very quiet; he’s not sure if he heard something about how a blowjob would be nice, but he’s too polite to push...maybe. “I’M SURE SOMETHING COULD BE ARRANGED.” There’s a loud crash and the yowls of killer cats, possibly turning on their owner. “Everything alright?”

“Ow. Go ‘way!”

Bond smiled and did as he was bid, for now, until he could break in later. Maybe Q’s security system would finally be a challenge for him.

Q heard Bond’s steps fade away, and he was left alone, trapped in his head with his pain, cats, and tea. He’s not sure when his arms began to hurt, but between the headaches and the searing pain in his arms, he wasn’t sure if he was going to make it. In a desperate bid in fear for his life, he entered Bond’s number into his mobile before he was incapacitated by the most incredible fire racing through his body and mind. He clenched his hands around the phone, his body seizing bow tight; he thought he was going to split apart and all that would be left were pieces. Dear God, how stupid he was to not tell Medical or M about the nanobots that were still in his system. The seizure left him, and he was once more nothing but a limp noodle on the floor, the mobile laying in the palm of his hand.

He gave a whuffing sigh of relief before he was captured by one more, massive seizure. His head snapped back, his fists clenched, the mobile useless in his hand with no feeling as an electric jolt went through him. He wondered briefly, whether or not he had mistakenly done something incredibly stupid with his toaster, like leaving it on and putting a screwdriver in it while he was taking a bath, but that could not be the furthest thing from the truth. The electric jolt left him breathless; his eyes flew open and it was as if he was reborn or rebooted, coming online through apps, programs, notes, it all swirled and flew-he was in the mobile!

Q panicked; he couldn’t see the bathroom. Where were his hands? Where was his body,?! He flapped around with his hands, and he could feel his mobile, feel his face, but all he could see were lines and lines of code. To distract himself, he read them as they swept past, until he could partition what he was seeing. Curiosity, rather than pain was now at the forefront of his mind.

There was always something soothing about losing himself in programs and design. He was in a familiar place, but how he got here, he didn’t know. It took a moment before he rationalized he should let go of the mobile. He opened his hand, and it dropped with a clatter to the tiled floor, bouncing once. He was immediately disconnected, his mind slammed back into the white and black checkered familiarity of his bathroom. He blinked several times before rushing to the toilet, wobbling as he went and losing whatever it was that he’d managed to eat earlier.

“What...the...fuck, was that?” he asked out loud to no one in particular. “You guys, you guys see that. What happened?” Q looked at his cats. “I can’t be crazy if I’m talking to you, right? Right. No. Okay. Okay.” Turpentine and Grommet who had curled themselves in the sink at Q’s thrashing only meowed in response. “SSShhhh, it’s okay. It’s okay. We’re okay, aren't’ we?” He steadied himself against the bathroom vanity before crawling forward to the mobile lying as helpless as he had been on the floor. “Come on, there’s a good lad. I won’t hurt you.” He gently touched his forefinger to the back of the device and was immediately sucked into it, once more. A few seconds later, minutes, hours, he didn’t know, he was violently disconnected and sick in the toilet again.

“That is equally the weirdest and amazing thing ever.” Q looked up at the sink. Turpentine and Grommet had nothing to say; they had fallen asleep as cats are wont to do when their humans are being useless.

By the time Q managed to cobble together answers his own questions and release himself from the bathroom, his headaches had disappeared, and the burning in his arms receded to a warm sensation running up and down his nerves. It wasn’t painful, but he felt...connected? As he walked from the bathroom to his living room, all of his electronic devices turned on. He stopped in the middle of his living room, absorbed in the clamoring of multiple radios, television, computers, clocks, phones and roomba as they all called to him. So many devices, so many programs oh God, the computers were going online… they were pulling at him.

“NO, NO, NO!” he yelled as he tried to pull back and away. He ran to the computers, trying to turn them off, the laptop, but they were all stuck open and online. “Stop, stop, stop! Come back, come back.” He ordered as his eyes opened and he stared blindly out at the room, grasping desperately for the wireless connections to his computers, laptop and phones and cut them off from the inside. “Oh God,” he whispered, before dashing back to the bathroom and tossing his cookies into the toilet. The cats skittered away at the disturbance, but they knew what to do in this situation now that their human was up and walking around. They ran to their food bowl and meowed loudly.

“Of course you would want food now,” Q grumbled as he stepped carefully through to the kitchen until he could do it without setting anything off. “It’s like a minefield,” he murmured. He rummaged around until he had taken care of the cats, and in lieu of just having voided his tummy, he made tea. He stared at the microwave sitting next to the stove while waiting for the kettle to boil. Nothing happened. He stared harder. Nothing. “Have I gone mad?” This time, he moved to touch the microwave. It beeped. “Hullo.” He thought about what he wanted it to do, soon, with a little bit of sweat, tea, and practice, he had the microwave and his various digital kitchen appliances beeping and chirping merrily along. “Oh this is bad. This is very bad. This is bad, bad,” he whispered to himself, before smiling, a grim, wide gash across his sick-pale face. “Fuck.”

If he set off his own supply of limited electronics and computers, what would happen when he went out into the world or Q-branch! He smacked his hand against his head. Q-branch, where dozens upon dozens of delicate, tinkery little gadgets and gizmos just happened to be lying about waiting for trouble. On his desk currently there were remnants of micro flamethrowers, smoke bombs, watches he had open for experimentation and various other devices.

He tapped his fingers against his mouth as he quickly calculated how much sick leave and vacation time he had against what agents he knew would be out in the field, and the timing wasn’t optimal. 007 was due to go back out, and he barely managed to get back in one piece if Q was handling him; he didn’t dare to think about how damaged 007 would take (or do) if Q wasn’t there to get him out of tight spots. Q ran a hand through his hair and walked back and forth across his living room.

His Roomba, Rufus was busy puttering around, bravely keeping up with the endless supply of cat hair, like a steadfast tin soldier. Q knelt down and stopped Rufus with one finger, picking him up to flip him over. He spent a few minutes turning him off and on again with… however he was doing it… how was he doing it? He realized that if he had found a person with this ability… he’d immediately want to study said person.

“Well that can’t happen,” he said out loud to himself. “I didn’t work this hard to become Q and then be demoted to locked up lab rat. My time would be over before it even began, and I wouldn’t even have had to have been killed on the job.” No one knew what was in him and how he had reacted. If he could keep it quiet and figure out how to control it, maybe no one would ever know. “Alright, first things first. We need some test subjects, I need to set up tasks and experiments, I’ve got this. We’ve got this, right boys?” He turned around to address his cats, who only followed him with their heads as they lay curled up on the sofa. “Come on Rufus; you’ve been promoted.”

Q spent his time diligently destroying nearly all of the tech available to him in his house until he had mostly worked out how he could get some sort of control over his ability. Sitting at his desk, he shook his hands in frustration as if he could stare through skin and bone; the nanobots weren’t perfect, far from it. They hadn’t been fully tested, and there were several improvements Q felt he could have made for them, but now he was literally and figuratively stuck with them. He kept ‘glitching’ out of devices. He could hold them from a range of moments to minutes, depending on the complexity of the device, and if he was connected to the internet, it pretty much sucked him in, and he had to do an emergency exit, leaving him drained and unfocused as he floated untethered until he came back to himself.

“And no hope for an upgrade,” he murmured to himself. “No Q 2.0. I’m just the beta version. The Beta Q? Huh Rufus?” Q spoke to the roomba as it weaved drunkenly about the room. “Yeah, I know how you feel.” He nudged his work mobile and connected himself enough to dial R. He smiled when he heard her terse greeting.

“Yes, boss?” she asked.

“Just checking in.”

“It’s quieter than a deadly fart in a room full of debutantes.”

“That’s as surprising as it is gross.” Q frowned, Bond had been out in the field, last he heard, and surely there must be mayhem breaking wide open in some part of the world.

“Had you called in twenty minutes ago, you would have heard the chewing out M gave Bond over comms as he hijacked and then played bumper cars with one of those bullet trains in Japan. It’s a very small island. Why did M even send him? Too much trouble on such a small piece of real estate.”

Q let out a small huff of laugh, slightly reassured then, “M’s new, we’re all new. Perhaps Bond is giving us on the job training?”

“He can keep his stupid training. All I want is his equipment back.”

“Tale as old as time. What didn’t he bring back this time?”

“Well, let me double check his file. Oh look, he brought back all of none of it. He said it all saved his life, so he was thankful for our offerings. Burnt offerings. Not even his Walther. He did bring back the stolen data, didn’t get killed in the process, and managed to only partially kill the leader of that gang of surly misfits.”

Q laughed. “Well, at least that’s something. Thankfully, we don’t have to build him a gun from scratch. Considering his track record, I took the necessary precautions and made a few spare Walthers coded to his palm print. I have them locked away and haven’t told him, so don’t you tell him.”

“Got it boss, standard bitch and moan when I get him in my sights again. He’s gone off to do whatever it is he does with 006 when he’s off duty.”

Q gave a vague hmmm at the end of her statement. “Okay then, if there’s nothing else?” he asked hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Alright. Q out.”

“R out.”

Q sat back and drummed his fingers on his desk before getting up to move to the living room. He stared at his television set, willing it to come on, but no, either he didn’t have that ability or he was too far. He walked over and gave it a tap. The news came on and he listened with one ear as he moved around, picking up the mess he’d made in the past few days. Rufus came wombling over drunkenly, chewing on the carpet.

Nearly done, he set the kettle to boil and proceeded to finish tidying up. Just as the kettle emitted it’s shrieking whistle, the news story changed to focus on another incident involving the London hero. Q was torn between staying to listen and needing to turn the kettle off so he could hear. He ran to the kitchen and turned the flame off, so he could hear better. This time someone had grainy footage of a man? It looked like a man, running over the rooftops of London, all in black, every feature covered. The person filming had followed as best they could; you could hear them yelling in excitement in the background.

“I got him, there he is, that’s the dude that’s been…” The person filming tripped and fell, the camera landing face up and the London hero must have heard, he paused to look down at what was going on below, saw the person on the ground and then began to lower himself as if to help.

“BLEEP” The person who was filming could be heard off camera as the dark figure made it’s way closer. “BLEEP he’s coming!” The camera was jolted as it was snagged by the owner’s hand, it covered part of the screen and all that was left to see were a couple of clear spaces and then a voice.

“Hey? Are you okay?”

Q froze, a voice? Finally! A voice, Q bolted into the living room and in his haste, forgot himself and picked up his remote, frying it in his eagerness and effectively shutting of the telly.

“Dammit!” he muttered to himself. He threw the remote down and stomped over to the television and gently touched it, willing it to come on. His face lit up and he pumped his fist in the air with triumph as it obeyed him, the screen filled with the images of the newscasters. He replayed the video, and he could just barely hear a muffled voice saying those four words.

“Hey? Are you okay?”

He was real. He existed and he helped the people of London. Q looked down at his own hand, touching the television casing. Maybe, maybe he could help the people. Oh God no, if something happened, if it got out, if he got out of MI6 and began running around trying to do what the Hero did, he’d never get any sleep, he’d be a ragged mess, and he’d lose his job as Q.

“But would it be worth it?” he asked himself. He didn’t know and shook his head, “One day at a time old boy. One day at a time. We must walk before we run. Experiment before we apply. Always have a way out. Right Rufus, Turpentine, Grommet? Right.” He got no answer from Rufus, except a sad whir if that could be an answer. His cats just watched him quietly.  
“Yeah.”


	7. Clang, Clang, Clang Went the Trolley

Q was swaying gently back and forth as he sat huddled in his anorak on the train ride home, tick-a-tack, tick-a-tack, tick-a-tack, train coming down the tracks. The lights flickered, but he paid no attention; it was the Underground. Everything flickered. The car shook, still not a problem, until it wouldn’t stop shaking as it picked up speed. Too fast, unusual, Q thought as he filed the information sluggishly away in his tired brain. He uncurled himself from his comma-like position, lifting his head from where he had his nose tucked in the collar of his jacket, to look around.

This was the last train of the night service; he had been at the gym, after work, doing some more rehab. Grumbling under his breath at the unusual movement of the train, he was sore from his workout, and he just wanted to get home to his cats, dive head first into a hot meal. His brain focused on the thought of hot food, and his stomach followed with a cranky growling sound when the train stopped shaking, speeding, and came to a complete stop. Unusual, Q thought as his body jerked to the side, not a normal stop. He looked around curiously. The tunnel was dark; the trains interior lights were on, and he and the few other passengers were studiously trying to ignore each other. Maybe there was some track work? He glanced at his watch, at this hour? Whoops! Q and the other passengers were jolted again from their seats, and some of the ones standing were swung around on the hand rails and poles as the train pushed forward violently.

“What the?” someone asked uselessly.

Another passenger let out a small screech at being jostled so suddenly. The train continued until it was clipping along at a speed that was definitely faster than average, the tunnel lights flicking past faster and faster, nearly blurring. A streak of light-washed color flashed by as they passed the next stop. A few of the passengers started to make excited exclamations when they realized that they missed their stop. Speculation ran rampant through the car: were they on a runaway train? Was there track work? Was something wrong at the stop? There wasn’t much for them to do except remain at the mercy of the technological gods and their ability to get the train back to normal. Q reached for his mobile, as were the other passengers, but something was blocking all calls. A deeper sense of panic set in.

Passengers were talking to passengers that they wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot pole in their desire for information and reassurance. Q wasn’t certain if it was the tunnels blocking reception or something more nefarious. In his tired, mental state, trying to reach into the unknown, find answers, and problem solve digitally with his power on the fly would probably do more harm than good! Instead, he blew out a huff of air and now fully understood an agent's hesitation when it came to calling for help. Surely, he could figure it out if given time, but since he had no clue as to why the train was acting weird and he was a branch head, it was up to him to ensure his own safety and hopefully the safety of the passengers along with him.

He knew without further directions from him, MI6 would at least come investigate. He pressed his lips into a thin line before he pressed the distress button on the miniaturized radio that he carried on his person, M had ordered that one be issued to him while he was convalescing, and he hadn’t turned it back in yet. R wouldn’t let him; it seems she had a better instinct for the preservation of the head of Q-branch than the head himself had.

“Clever girl,” Q smiled to himself. The radio would be working on a completely different frequency than his mobile, without knowing what signals were truly blocked, he could only hope that what he knew and what was a real world situation, would get along.

 

###

 

“Where are you?” Alec asked.

James pressed the mobile closer to his ear; Alec’s voice was coming over very muffled by his balaclava. “I’m out.”

“Excellent.”

“Did you need something?” James stopped running to hear better. His own panting breath filled the air, and he pushed his face cover over as much as he deemed safe as he hunkered down below the rooftop’s edge. He pressed the mobile closer to his ear as he waited for Alec’s answer. He could hear voices in the background.

“Yeah, think you could pick something up for me on the way home?”

“For Christ’s sake, I’m not on a grocery run,” James said, huffing and laughing. “Can’t it wait?”

“Well, it could, but we’re a bit low on milk, seeing as you drank it all this morning, so could you pick some up? And maybe the Quartermaster while you’re at it?”

“What? Q? Why, where’s Q?”

“Not sure. R’s trying to get a location right now, but he seems to be moving along at a fast clip.”

“Is he running? In a car?” James stood up and surveyed the buildings around him, trying to figure out how to get where he would need to go once Alec stopped being vague.

“No, we think he’s on a hijacked train.”

“A hijacked train? What?” James shook his head, hoping he had heard wrong.

“MI6 got a gift in the mail today. Apparently, they know who Q is and right now, they have control of the whole underground system and are rerouting trains. If we don’t give them what we want, which is access to our servers, they’re going to crash a specific train somewhere important, taking out the Quartermaster in the process.

James groaned. “And somehow our fearless Supreme Overlord of the minion horde is on this train.”

“Да.”

“What’s wrong with him?” James muttered.

Alec merely laughed in response. “Same thing that’s wrong with you. Wrong place, wrong time.” Alec was cut off by a strident female tone.

“It’s because that barmy git refuses to take a company car home! He took the stupid train!” It was R, taking her frustration out on Alec’s mobile.

Another rustling sound and soon Moneypenny’s soothing dulcet tones were coming over the line. “007.”

“Ms. Moneypenny.” James smiled, just the sound of her voice was enough to calm him down.

“Orders from M. Would you be so kind as to go and haul that ragamuffin of a Quartermaster out of a runaway car? We can’t let one of our assets be so easily stolen.”

“Noted. Give me back to Alec.”

“Jameska?” Alec asked.

“I’m not losing another one Alec, I can’t. God dammit, why does Q have to be so stubborn about his personal safety?!”

“He’s new and thinks he’s immortal.”

“Well he’s not!” James snapped.

“And you are, so get going, or do I need to come out there and do your job? You should know that Moneypenny is sitting here frowning at your slowness.”

“Dammit Alec. Alright, I’m on it.” James hung up and let out a heavy sigh that turned into a growl. He pulled up the edges of his balaclava and searched for the easiest route to get to where he could access the tunnels.

 

###

 

Something was definitely wrong with the train; it was passing stations where they should have stopped, and people were beginning to panic for real now. No one knew that he worked for MI6 or that he had called for help, and Q pretended to be just as scared as the rest of them, though he couldn’t be sure how much was actually a lie. Q took the initiative though and urged his fellow passengers to move cars, to get to the back of the train, the furthest from where there would be an impact. The conductor kept coming on, making announcements that there seemed to be a slight malfunction, but they’ll have it fixed in no time. The station names flickered and changed, the automated system announcing each and every one that they pass. It’s not until the conductor’s voice comes over the intercom once more to calm his load of passengers and let them know that he’s trying to get the system to reboot when he’s cut off and a new voice comes over the speaker.

“We have the train.”

“Shit,” Q whispered. He tried to get everyone back to the last train. Maybe he could disconnect the cars, but passengers are just human and they were panicking and milling about like directionless sheep. Nothing ever comes easy. When Q could no longer control the direction and flow of the passengers, he gave one a final, hard push, until that person was forcibly moved through to the next car. Q ducked down and pressed his hands to the floor of the car, locking the doors.

He focused next on disconnecting the trains, but they’re something he’d never had the pleasure to operate and it took him too long to figure out how to disconnect the cars or attempt to. He was not that strong yet, and there was a strange code running through the system. He had a fight with himself to stay on task, not to chase the code, but it was different; it would have a signature to track it back.

“No focus! Uncouple the trains!” He urged himself to finish the job and refocused in order to fight through the strange code until the train became partially uncoupled. He sat back, sweaty and panting. Oh thank god, he thought, but then he was jerked into awareness; while he had managed to get the train unhooked, he had forgotten about the cabling that connected them. Fuck! With part of the train unhooked, the sections would try to pull fully apart, but they would just sling back after hitting the end of their tether and slam into the section he was in. Q popped up to look out the back windows.

Oh dear, this wasn’t something he could digitally control. The cables were hooked by hand! Uncoupled, the forward section was lighter and tried to break free; it pulled the connection until it finally snapped, the metal connectors springing back and cracking the windows he was hiding behind. Q threw himself to the floor, but the cracking noise was all he heard.

Flattened against the floor, it took him a precious few seconds to put himself back into 3D form, but he did it and found himself alone on a runaway train. Oh yeah, ejector seats were going to be his next project, he grumbled to himself. He peeled off his parka and threw the hood to his sweatshirt up over his head and made his way to the front of the car he was on, determined to find the control panels. He hadn’t heard the conductor in a long while; hopefully he was still there, trying to get the train back under control. He glanced up at the line maps on the wall of the trains, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the maps were basically useless now. Even as Q studied them, he didn’t have the foggiest idea of where they were headed to or if they were even on the same section of tracks. Q froze at the thought that he had stupidly put himself on the section that might be the dangerous end: either he was headed for a collision with another train or he was riding a battering ram. At that thought, he unfroze and shifted his glasses up his nose.

“Collisions aren’t my cup of tea, but I can hit the brakes for God’s sake,” Q said firmly, his hand gripped one of the poles with conviction before he made his way forward again.

Q ran pell mell through the remaining trains, knocking into poles and doors as he made his way up front; good lord he was going to be covered in bruises. The door to the control section was locked. He placed his hand along it, and the door whooshed open at his command.

“Oh well, that’s a problem.” Q said, when he saw the conductor was lying on the floor. Q knelt down to turn him over, before jumping back in shock. The conductor had been fried with some kind of electric current. His whole front was an angry red and black where he had been burnt. “First things first then, don’t panic, don’t panic, 42, 42, 42.” Q looked around at the panels, monitors and controls. “Well, surely it must run on some sort of operating system!” He attempted to connect to the controls. “Oops, that’s not the brakes, that’s the lights.” The train went dark as he fumbled around trying to find the write lines of codes. He was groping around by the faint lights given off by the monitors and indicator lights when he felt the sudden press of a hard object to the back of his head. It nudged his head slightly, rocking with the train's motion. He closed his eyes hard and reopened them, but all he could see was a dark shape in the window of the train. He so did not need this right now.

“Remove your hands and step back. Now.”

Q did as he was ordered to by the gravelly voice. It sent a shiver up his spine, but apparently obeying the first order wasn’t enough. He was snagged by the back of his hoodie and flung backwards until his back and head connected with the wall of the train; a wad of material was pushed over his face. Reacting to the attack, Q slammed a hand back, on the wall of the train and accidentally connected with the train’s systems, causing the brakes to finally work; it threw both him and the attacker away from each other.

The brakes released as Q lost contact with the wall with the train picking up speed again. Unfortunately, his attacker was still free and in the same car as Q, and he caught Q again. A solid arm wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air, a heavy body pressed him against the forward control panels, Q scrabbled about, desperate, and he managed to connect to the train again and find the brakes. They proceed to play the stupidest game of catch and brake, until Q found himself caught against the back wall, his hands braced above his head, trying to protect himself from the impact. He looked up and saw the security camera blinking down at him.

“Shit,” he said into the wall.

Before he could disable the camera, he was attacked again! This was getting really, really tiresome, because once more he found himself trying to get the train to help him, which was stupid really. This time it’s worse; he’s managed not just to access the brake system, but he accessed ALL the systems! They came online and in a fight for survival and domination, the systems fought each other. The train took the next turn too fast, and it came off the rail, full speed into what he hoped was an empty station, but there was no way for him to check. The train is airborne; they’re airborne and flying, flying, flying around the interior of the carriage.

Q’s life could have ended in an infinite amount of ways based solely on his position at MI6, but life had seen fit to end it in a seemingly random runaway train. Q would be upset, except he wasn’t given the time to process it. The damage was done, he “stopped” the train... he can die now.

“At least I stopped it,” Q whispered. Their brief flight ended abruptly, and he curled in on himself, everything and nothing hurt. Something was shaking him, but he just let go, into the dark, warm wherever… he’s safe now.


	8. Dead Men Tell No Tales, But They Might Lie Those Sons of Bitches

Lights flashed across the backs of Q’s eyelids in shades of blues and whites. It was distracting so he squinted his eyes open, looking for the cause.

“Shit. It wasn’t a dream.” He was lying in the tangled mess of metal, hard plastic and cheap carpet where he had been fighting for his life and for the life of the train, which, as he glanced around, had crashed. He needed to get out of there quick, before someone found him and he was saddled with an enormous bill. M’s going to kill me, he thought. At least he had managed to land on something soft. He started to push himself off when the soft thing began to make noises. His head whipped around. His attacker! Q sucked in a fast breath as he recognized the homemade outfit that the London hero normally wore: all black, the head covering, the light body armour worn in patches rather than all over, as if he could only afford a few important pieces at a time. Q traced a hand over the edge of the kevlar reinforced shirt. He jerked his hand away when the man underneath all the black inhaled. Q could see the shine of blood coming from under him against the surface of the train.

“Oh no.” Q murmured. He felt around the man and found the source of the blood; he had been skewered on a piece of the broken train, the pointy end going somewhere into the meaty part near the shoulder blade and out through the front. Lights were coming towards them, and he could hear voices now. The man inhaled again. If Q left him here and took off, the London hero would be found, his identity would be revealed and possibly charged with the destruction of a perfectly good underground train, even if he wasn’t responsible for it. If Q remained, both of them would be found and he imagined that would piss off M even more. “Shit, come on, I can’t leave you here.”

Q’s own hands shook as he gripped handfuls of the hero’s layers over his chest and quickly pulled straight out, to get him off the piece of metal as soon as possible. Well, that had consequences; the sudden movement and pain set something off and the man woke up. Bright blue eyes flashed, unseeing, and he came up swinging, clocking Q across the jaw.

“For fuck’s sake, stop being difficult!” Q yelled, forgetting himself for a moment in his anger and distress. “I deal with enough of that in my life, thank you. We need to get out of here.”

“Q?”

Q’s eyes widened as he shoved himself forward to yank the man’s head covering all the way down.

“Ow.” The man groaned, who was now revealed to be nobody else but one trouble making agent, James Bond.

“Bond,” Q breathed, “what in the devil are you doing here!?” Bond had lost a lot of blood, and he was still losing it. Maybe he should wait for the emergency crews.  
Bond smiled and coughed; oh God he must have nicked a lung, Q thought. There was blood in his mouth and spittle. “I’m here to rescue you.”

“You’re a little short, for a stormtrooper.” Q couldn’t help himself and grinned down at Bond, who only groaned back at his humor.

“Radio. Distress signal. Alec called. Moneypenny will be pissed,” Bond grunted out.

“Come on princess, I can’t leave you here or Moneypenny will be even more pissed. Especially if she has to do paperwork for it.” Q snagged his anorak off the floor; how it got there he couldn’t figure, but it must have been what had been stuffed over his face at one point. He bent to help Bond to his feet; the man was heavy, almost a dead weight, “Good lord, how much do you weigh?”

Bond grumbled some more, but he tried to support himself and got his feet moving, even though he had to rely on Q for help over the difficult parts. Q threw the anorak over Bond to disguise his bleeding side and pulled the face covering all the way down, so they wouldn’t attract any more attention. Bond gritted his teeth and followed Q back down the track, until they came to one of the maintenance doors that led to the surface.

 

###

 

Limping out to the street level, Q wrapped one arm around Bond, keeping him close, afraid both for his health and that the anorak wouldn’t continue to be an effective cover for all the blood. Q managed to flag down a cab, stuffing Bond in. Bond remained pale and quiet next to him on the way to Q’s home, his eyes darting around, searching, searching, always on the alert for a danger that Q would never really know.

“It’s alright. We’ll get you back to my place and I’ll call Medical. Hopefully M will be in a forgiving mood.”

Bond shook his head. “Don’t need Medical.”

Q looked thunderstruck, “You’ve been impaled by the pointy part of a train, Bond. My Medical expertise is only good for a quick stitch job, not a full on shoulder repair!” Q hissed.

“You won’t need to… do anything.” Bond muttered, calm in the face of Q’s anger.

“That’s absurd! You need Medical attention.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Do you want to die!?” Q asked with some horror, blinking in disbelief at the stalwart agent, the ever present strangely beloved nuisance might be considering leaving this world.

“Sssh, just, wait. It’ll be okay.”

Q couldn’t see how any of this would be okay, but he kept his mouth shut until they got back to his place and then badgered the crap out of Bond, who was in fact, bleeding out.

“Come on! Let me take you in!” Q led Bond to the bathroom, where he started to unwrap Bond from his layers. The cats followed out of curiosity, maintaining their distance. Bond and the cats watched each other, strangers and invaders to each other, taking up Q’s attention. Q pulled off the light armour, his fingers began to push the dark kevlar shirt away, when Bond’s hands stopped him.

“No.”

“I can call someone!” Q pleaded.

“No.”

“You’ll die!” Q yelled, as his patience ended. “I’m calling someone, and that’s final. I outrank you. It’s an order!”

Bond merely smiled, his face bleached of color, and his tan gone. It seemed, the lights washed him further out, and his eyes still sparkled, but they too were beginning to drain out onto his floor, the blue slowly becoming less vibrant, less alive. “Bossy little thing.”

“Well, you’re such a big thing that, compared to you, you would think I’m little,” Q argued for the sake of keeping Bond conscious. “You’re dying. I can call someone, I can. Medical can be here or I can just call for an ambulance. I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

“Ssshhhh,” Bond said, removing himself from the edge of the bathtub that Q had set him on. He slid down to the floor, and Q followed, “We all die in the end. For some of us, it’s a matter of repetition.”

“You’re not supposed to die like this!” Q hisses, and shook Bond, forgetting himself.

James smiled, or tried to, another tiny blood-filled grin, “Oh? And how did you imagine it to be?”

“I don’t know! In the line of duty on an international incident, or… or as a doddering old man drooling in your yogurt as you flipped a particularly nasty orderly off. Maybe you broke his fingers before you went. I don’t know James, but I didn’t see you going on my bathroom floor! It’s undignified!”

James laughed again. “Such a big imagination for such a small thing.”

“Stop calling me small and stop dying!”

“I would if I could, Q.” Bond’s breathing changed, and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He knew Q was scared, but there was nothing he could tell him that would reassure him. “Just, don’t call anyone. Let it happen. Wait.”

“For what?! God James, not to sound like a right selfish prick, but I can’t be found with a dead agent in my house!”

“I’ll only die… for a little bit, but I’ll… come back.”

“You’re insane,” Q whispered. “People don’t come back.”

Bond’s face did that thing when he was vastly amused at a mistake his opponent had made, that only he could see, but the opponent hadn’t realized they’d just given Bond everything, a weird curling uptick to the end of his mouth. Q impetuously kissed it. It might be the last time James made that motion, and he didn’t want to waste it. He pulled back, catching Bond’s surprise look.

“You tooook… adddvantage,” Bond slurred his words, but still he smiled.

“More like an opportunity, sshh, we can do this.” Q pressed one hand against Bond’s face, drawing it softly across the stubble on his cheek.

“Resurrection,” Bond whispered. “You have to wait, my orders. Don’t call… no one else, I’ll come back for…” His voice broke off on a strange exhale, his eyes fixing on the tile behind Q.

“No. Nonononono...No!” Q pushed himself up to his knees and began compressions. “Dammit, dammit. Breathe, breathe, 1, 2, 3, 4…” Q continued CPR for a bit, but whatever blood had been in James wasn’t there to circulate anymore, and there wasn’t any room in his lungs for air, borrowed or otherwise; one of his lungs had taken a lot of damage, and all that Q had to deal with was bloody bubbles.

“Shit.” Q sat back and pressed his hands into his eyes. “No. No. Oh no no no, oh no, come back. Bond. James, come back. Come on. Come on.” There was no answer, no sarcastic comeback, only silence as Q was left hovering over what to him was a dead man. Tears began to flow, and it was hard to think. He’d been on the line a few times when an agent hadn’t made it, heard their screams, their cries, their pleading. Not one of them had gone as quietly as James just had. It was worse, so much worse, to have no goodbye, no sounds, just the quiet body of a proud legend lying in his Quartermaster’s bathroom. Q shook his head. No, no that was certainly not good enough. He ran out into the living room and grabbed the old quilts that were on the back of the couch and ran back to the bathroom.

“Shoo! Shoo!” he yelled, startling his cats and Rufus the roomba, who had come into try and start cleaning now that the door was open. The cats jumped back, and Rufus was shoved unceremoniously out the door to trundle off to other parts of the house. Q sat back against the tub, pushing and pulling at Bond until he had made them comfortable on the bathroom floor. He didn’t know how long they would stay like this. Q was starting to slowly come down from whatever adrenaline there was in his system, leaving him shaking all over. He tightened his grip on James, shifting, gripping, cradling him. He would do as James had asked and wait for what would come, other than him being found with a dead body.

A mobile ring broke the silence of the little bathroom, and Q nearly jumped out of his skin. He had dozed off, and, looking around, he finally found it somewhere on Bond; the number belonged to Alec!

“Hello!” Q answered as firmly as he could and heard a long sigh of relief on the other end.

“Oi, Mishka. You’re safe?” Alec asked.

Q clears his throat, “Yeah, yeah I’m safe.” He heard Alec speaking to someone in the background; he’s pretty sure it’s R or Moneypenny, and they’re yelling, but Alec isn’t giving the mobile over.

“Where’s Jameska?”

“007 can’t come to the phone right now,” Q said, for lack of anything else to say. How does he tell James’s best friend that he’s dead? A sudden flush of panic and dread hit him. “He’s in the bathroom. Can I take a message?” Q asked lamely into the silence. There was more silence, and he could hear Alec yelling back at the women in Q-branch before it got quiet again.

“How bad is it?” Alec asked softly.

“Oh, Alec,” Q whispered, his voice caught on a lump in his throat. He brushed at the bloodied, blond hair above James’s ear. “He’s fine, he’s just... in the bathroom as I said.”  
Q heard Alec blow air through his nose.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Alec asked. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think he is. He… Alec, I tried, he wouldn’t let me call Medical or anyone, I even ordered hi-” Q cut himself off at Alec’s laughter. He pulled the mobile away from his ear.

“You tried to order James to go to Medical.” Alec laughed even harder.

“This isn’t funny Alec, James is dead. Like dead, dead!” Q hissed into the phone, his nails digging into James, as if he could either protect or kill him again, he wasn’t sure.

“I know.”

Q was pretty sure he lost it then. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KNOW?”

“He does this.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN-”

“Stop yelling and start listening, Mishka. It’s his specialty. His hobby. Resurrection.”  
Q’s brain started flipping back through until it drew up the fragments of conversation they had recorded from the Silva incident.

“But it’s just a-”

“Fairytale? You know what they say: every good fairytale needs an old fashioned hero. Stay with him Q. It won’t be pretty.”

“You know about this? Can’t you come over?” Q asked in a small voice, “I’m, we’re alone.”

“I would if I could Mishka, but there’s something going on and I’m needed at headquarters. M’s probably going to send me off soon anyway. I’ll let M know that you’re under James’s protection and are staying put for the rest of the evening. Take care and take care of Jameska.” Alec ended the phone call.

“Oh, oh you’re shitting me,” Q breathed. “He hung up.” He looked down at James and then to his cats who had crept closer. “He’s not food.” The cats ignored him, as they’re wont to do, and curled themselves up until they were both wedged between James’s and Q’s bodies, purring away. “Well, then. I guess we’re in for the night.”

Q managed to fall asleep with literally bloody quilts, purring cats, and a dead body for comfort. He would have been more disturbed by this, except that he was beyond sore and exhausted by what he had accomplished that night. He fell into a fitful doze, and at some point, somewhere between dreaming and awake, he felt a fleeting press of lips against his. Q turned, chasing the press of warmth, but he was so tired, he didn’t wake. Much later, when the light came through the small bathroom window, watery and grey behind his eyes, Q roused himself, shivering with the cold and the anticipation of finding a dead man in his arms who had told him not to put him in a box six feet under or get Medical help, but to wait. For what? For how long?

Q began to panic before he had fully wakened that he would be found with a dead MI6 employee in his arms. This would not look good come employee evaluation. Q finally gathered scraps of his courage together and opened his eyes to find his cats perched on his chest and stomach, purring and staring at him. He gave them a brief pet and gentle shove off as he sat up to look for James.

“Bugger,” Q said into the empty bathroom. “He’s gone!” Q flopped back down to the bathroom floor and stared at the ceiling, his brain trying to process the information of what shouldn’t be: Q alone and no cadaver to show for any of the violence of the night before.


	9. Better Late Than Never, Suckers

Q stood in front of his bathroom sink with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, in a slight daze after waking up to find Bond gone, because:

1\. How did he get out of his house without setting off the security system?

2\. How the fuck did someone die and walk out on their own two feet?

3\. BOND IS THE LONDON HERO.

It was that thought that put Q in a tailspin. Bond was the London hero. All this time, he’s the one that Q’s seen running around town rescuing people, and the dying and coming back bit? Q was certain that wasn’t in Bond’s files. He looked at his cats, and Turpentine and Grommet came to attention, ears perking, heads turning this way and that as cats do, until they ran out of the bathroom. Q set his toothbrush down and followed, dragging his bloodied quilts with him to throw them in the wash. Taking care of the cats and ordering Rufus to stay out of the bathroom helped Q motor through some of his morning tasks. MI6 knew he was safe, so no one would be harassing him anytime soon on a Saturday, and besides, R had the helm; she wouldn’t call unless it was life or death.

Now that he had cleaned up most of his house, or at least the important parts that had Bond’s blood on them, he took to cleaning up himself, which is how he missed Bond re-enter his house. Q got as far as his bed and nearly jumped out of his skin and towel as something traced lightly over one of his lower ribs.

“Shit!” Q yelled, as he spun around, slapping whatever it was away and coming face to face with an angry Bond, although why that stupid man had any right to be angry, he didn’t know. He reached for the shirt lying on his bed, but Bond’s hand stopped him, catching on his wrist, pulling him away so he could inspect him further. Curious about the odd behavior, Q allowed it until the same foreign object from before, which happened to be a finger now that he recognized it, traced over the same lower rib and he laughed at the tickle. “Stop that.” Bond’s gaze switched from the bruises and scratches scattered all over his torso from the fight on the train to the small pock mark scars littering his forearms.

“You’re a mess. You look like you’re from a science fiction project gone wrong. What the hell?”

“I was pretending to be a punching bag. I think I did a fantastic job,” Q said, giving a firm tug and trying to dislodge his own wrist. He was mentally giving Bond five seconds to remove his hand before he removed it for him. Q’s eyes narrowed, and he said in his quiet, soft voice, “Let go.”

Bond didn’t let go; he merely raised an eyebrow and squeezed Q’s wrist firmly within his own. Q brought his knee up sharply, making contact with two of Bond’s prized assets. He stepped to the side and slightly forward, pulling Bond past his balance point and dropping him to the floor on his bum. It could have gone much worse; Bond could have killed him from his arsenal of over-trained reflexes. Instead, Bond rolled himself forward to his knees. He’s glaring as he looks up, perhaps wincing a bit, and Q thinks that’s perfectly fine.

“Can’t say I mind the view,” Q said, admiring the pretty picture Bond made on his knees. He sucked in a breath as a warm hand went to his hip.

Bond kept his palm on the towel, but his thumb wandered up and began tapping at Q above where the towel lay.

“Can’t say I mind it either.” Bond’s thumb hooked into the towel. Q swatted it away, turning to his clothes piled on the bed. Without a word, he dropped his towel to climb into his comfy, at-home clothes. Bond can deal with his nakedness while he sorts himself out. Men are men, and he’s pretty sure Bond’s seen both better and worse. All his bruises and scrapes are revealed until they’re covered by fresh pants and black joggers, his feet bare.

“You can’t go around doing that, or whatever it was that you were doing on that train,” Bond spoke to Q’s partially clad back.

Q popped his head through a bright blue shirt with the words ‘Friends don’t let friends use WINDOWS’ “Can’t I? Seems to me you go around doing what you do without checking in about it with someone.”

“I have Alec. I check in with him.”

“So 006 knows, and he’s fine with it and you're fine with it… for Christ’s sake Bond, you died! You. Died. All I have are just a few bruises. You died. Explain that!” Q shoved his face into Bond’s; he was angry and he thought rightfully so, until the rest of the evening’s events replayed in his head. “I may even have partly been responsible for killing you,” Q finished quietly, his mind churning. He padded softly out to his living room, didn’t want this anger in his bedroom.

“It’s what I do,” Bond said, following behind.

“Yeah, well this is what I do. So fuck off or get with the program,” Q shot back over his shoulder.

“I can risk it, I come back. You… you sodding genius, you don’t have that ability. How easy do you think it is to replace a Quartermaster at MI6? Do you know how long Boothroyd was there before you came along? Forever!”

Q spun on his heel, coming to a halt at his kitchen counter, “There are plenty of other gadget builders in Q-branch. Even R could fill my shoes!” Bond shuddered at the thought of R permanently helming Q-branch until something dire happened to her. Q saw but pressed on. “So what, I’m supposed to sit on this, this ability?” Q waved his hands in agitation, the toaster turning on. “I’m not even dangerous!”

Bond blinked at the toaster coming to life. “It could be dangerous to you! Christ Q, you said something had gotten into you that was classified after the explosion. Does Medical even know what it is?” At the shifting stance and glare from Q, Bond hulked forward, trying to be intimidating. “No, thought not. You have to let them see what it is.”

Q gripped the counter, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, “Like you’ve let them examine you for what you can do?”

“It’s not the same.”

“It is the same. You can do something no one else can do, but no one forced you to go to Medical. If I get forced to go to Medical, they’ll never let me out again, and then you’ll find out how hard it is to get a new Quartermaster. You really will have to deal with R. See if she puts up with your shit. Plus, if you tell on me, I’ll tell on you.” Q jabbed Bond in his chest; he was that close, and Q was that reckless to poke at a double-oh.

Bond snagged the poking digit. “That’s childish.”

“Well so is this behavior. What are you, my mother?”

“No.” Bond gave a shake to Q’s finger.

“Well then, I’ll do what I want when I want, and you can’t stop me!” Q yanked on his hand, but it was held tight within Bond’s grasp, like a chinese finger trap.

“If you want this finger, you’ll have to break it.” Bond inched closer, his face threateningly close.

“If you ever want a functioning weapon again, you’ll let go of that finger,” Q whispered harshly.

Bond gave that stupid silly half smile that shouldn’t be anywhere near as sexy as it was, but it was, and Q allowed the movement of his captured hand to Bond’s face, where Bond kissed just the tip of it, brushing it against his lips. Q may have forced down a shiver; he may even have gone a little unfocused and fuzzy, but outwardly, he put his best school marm face on.

“Are you quite finished? You seriously can’t hold onto my hand all day. I won’t be able to build the gadgets you so adore, and people will talk.”

Bond let go of Q’s hand, passing him. He stopped when he was shoulder to shoulder and leaned in a bit to whisper, “Let them talk.”

This time, Q couldn’t hide the shiver that went up the length of his spine. Satisfied, Bond smiled, a proverbial cat in the cream pot.

Q adjusted his glasses. “Tea?”

“Thank you, yes.”

Q set the kettle to boil and pulled things out of his cabinets as Bond wandered around the living area, perusing the book cases and the knicknacks. By the time he completed the circuit and made his way back, mugs were filled and Q was calmly leaning back against the kitchen counter with his cats weaving about his legs. Bond squatted down to officially introduce himself to the twining pair. They sniffed his offered hand and tolerated a quick pet before pulling back to nose at their empty food bowls.

“Why were you on the train?” Q asked. “How did you even get on there?”

“Magic,” Bond said, grinning up at Q, who merely rolled his eyes at the response. “Alec called, said you stayed late, hadn’t taken a company car. They suspected you were on that hijacked train, that you were meant to be taken.”

Q froze at that, his hand moved to square his frames up. “Taken? Shit.”

“Exactly. Apparently, you could have been killed or captured.”

Q swallowed and thought about the train. He had only focused on the control panels, thinking it was merely a runaway, yet there had been something that bore mentioning. “There was something wrong with the train.”

Since the Quartermaster wasn’t one to restate the obvious, Bond glanced at him sharply, “How do you mean?”

“When I tried to stop it, there was this… code.” Q’s hand shaped circles in the air.  
Bond merely waited as Q’s intellectual wheels churned and burned, silent in his thought process.  
After a moment, he asked, “Was it a mistake in the programming? A glitch?”

“No… it was,” Q huffs, “made to look like a glitch. I thought to fix it because that’s what I thought was wrong with the train, but no. Once I touched it, it began to pull at me.”

Bond perked up. “Pull you?”

Q ran a hand through his hair, causing it to swirl about in a dark eddy. “Yeah, it pulled. I’m not very strong. and it was different. I wanted to explore. I’ve… look, this is the first time I tried anything like that. Like, the train. I’ve only experimented on the household appliances and my own backup laptop with a mirrored MI6 server that’s not connected to the internet because I didn’t know my range. Oh and Rufus. He’s um, he’s seen better days.”

Bond’s eyebrows drew together as he tried to follow along with Q-logic. “Rufus?”

“My roomba. He’s around here… somewhere.” Q looked around at the piles of paper, books and cat toys. “Rufus? Rufus!”

“It comes when you call?”

“He’s voice activated now. I improved his programming,” Q said, distracted. “Ah, there he is.”

James stepped back as a battle scarred, black and red rotating disc on wheels beeped sadly into the room. He smiled. “Looks like Rufus has seen better days.”

“Yes, well. Rufus, come to Daddy. Come on.” Q patted his legs.

“Looks like he’s got a bit of PTSD going on there,” Bond said, as Rufus wobbled around the room, avoiding Q.

“He’s just being stubborn.”

“It’s a vaccuum cleaner Q. Stop personifying the object.”

“When it’s the only man in your life that you can count on, you personify it,” Q grumbled as he glared after the disobedient roomba.

“This doesn’t look like a healthy relationship.”

“Oh shut it double-oh can’tmaintainarelationshipforfifteenseconds.”

James’s lip gave a slight rise to the start of a smile as he watched Q try to get his poor vacuum cleaner to behave. “You try having a ‘relationship’ when MI6 is pulling your choke chain to go off and do things in the name of Queen and country.”

Q finally caught Rufus and flipped the struggling piece of machinery upside down. He walked with it over to his workbench. “Oh, really. I wouldn’t know how hard it is to have a steady relationship when MI6 is pulling MY choke chain to go in and do cyber things in the name of Queen and country? Remember, Bond,” Q said, focusing on trying to keep the wiggling roomba steady, “Youngest Quartermaster ever. Division head. Also seeing that the likes of you and Trevelyan make it home safely. Although, I suppose I don’t have to worry about you so much now.”

“You love worrying about me.”

Q slammed Rufus down. “Until I knew I didn’t have to. Anyways, Rufus here isn’t just a hopped up device. I was able to interact with his programming, and he’s as close to AI as a roomba can get, but he has no voice box.”

Bond looked at Rufus and the pitiful movements it was making trying to escape Q. He took pity on the crazed, tortured ‘man’ in Q’s life, stepping in; he elbowed Q over, snagging Rufus.

“Hey!” Q said, protesting, he reached for the little roomba.

“You can have him back when you stop torturing him. The microwave and toaster are one thing, but this little guy, we soldiers of fortune have to stay together, don’t we Rufus? We few, we happy few. We band of brothers, suffering from Quartermaster abuse.”

Q’s jaw dropped as Rufus calmed in Bond’s hands. “Give him back.”

“No, I shan’t. Look how calm he is,” Bond said petting the small motorized gizmo. “Stop getting distracted and tell me about the code you said you found and your limits. These are questions I need answers to.”

Q glared at Rufus, a traitor to his Quartermaster. Bond walked around, carrying Rufus as he commented on Q’s home. “Nice. I’ve seen the converted mews, but only on the exterior. I may have to get one.”

“Mine might come available soon since Old Mrs. Mac might kill me. I accidentally opened her electronic dog door when I caught Bernard the other day after he ran away. Anyways, I have never attempted to work on anything like the train, ever. I’m not sure if I would know what I was looking for.”

Rufus whirred in Bond’s arms. “Rufus disagrees.”

Q glared once more. “I’d need to access it again to know what it was.”

“You nor I were at MI6 when the message came in. Alec described it this morning. Thought you should know”

“What message? Isn’t this a domestic affair? Shouldn’t MI5 be on this? Why us?”

“There was an image of a train, followed by an image of you on the train from one of the security cameras followed by this message: Give us the heart of MI6 or we’ll take it from you. Then there was a red web on black.”

“Show me,” Q said rising from where he sat at his workbench.

“It should be on the servers. Q? Q!” Bond called as Q marched off into his office. Bond deposited Rufus on the floor before following Q, and Rufus followed Bond.

Q got to his laptop and with one finger touched the keypad; the screen flickered faster than anything Bond had seen humanly happen, until they were deep within Q-branch’s servers, set up personally by Q. His eyes were flicking left and right so fast as he was assimilating the data.

“You don’t have to do this. R is taking care of the analyses.” He got no answer from Q. “You’re not a cyborg are you?” Bond asked, pushing against Q with a finger.

“The heart, why me? Why me and not M or Tanner? I’m just…” Q’s voice trailed off.

“Q-branch, the heart of MI6.”

“Well.” Q’s head tilted to the side, his hand sawing at the air in confusion.

“Modesty doesn’t become you, Q.” Bond’s eyes raked up and down Q’s casually dressed form, taking in the oddly pleasant view. He dragged his finger down Q’s arm, eyes following the path of goosebumps and resulting shiver.

“Oh, do shut up 007,” Q said, swatting him away.

Bond grinned at the familiar words. “I miss Boothroyd, but I like you better.”

“I like to think he had better tastes that ran in different directions, rather than to you,” Q said, dryly. He nudged his frames back up his nose, giving Bond a wide smile.

Bond shrugged. “To each their own. But as to why you and not M? Any of the division heads would be a target.”

“Maybe I can throw them at A.”

A bark of laughter flew out of Bond at the suggestion. “Do that and you’ll be stuck with a budget that really would only allow you to buy the cheap duct tape and toothpicks. Did you see the emblem? Did it look familiar?” Bond pressed, Q knew something, and he wanted to know it too.

Q refocused on the screens. They flashed around until he found the image, not unlike Silva’s laughing skull. Q shuddered once at the memory. “There’s... something. I occasionally dipped into the illegal areas of hacking. It’s how I got noticed by MI6.” Q grinned at the memory.

Bond hummed, curious. “Do I get to know what tragic backstory follows you?”

“It’s a terribly simple one,” Q said, attempting to move on to explaining the symbols.

“Aren’t they all.”

“Is this sharing time?” Q asked as he turned to look up at Bond, distracted from his task. “Sorry to disappoint, but some some people really are just what they are on the surface. Nothing special here, except a bored kid, access to computers, and time.” Another quick flash of a grin on Q’s narrow face, “and explosives.”

Bond’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, endearing him forever to Q. Bond turned to look at the screen of Q’s laptop, and Q took the strange initiative to touch the crows feet along the edges of his left eye. Okay, it was more of a quick, uncoordinated poke. Bond froze, as did Q, before he slowly turned his face, Q’s hand falling away.

“Not sorry,” Q said, placing his wayward hand back to the keyboard.

“At least I don’t need glasses.”

“Beast.”

Bond’s face crinkled again. “For who could ever love a beast?”

“Don’t get Disneyfied on me old man. Back to the subject at hand. I do remember something about this, but it’s not an individual… more of a group. Hmmm.” Q dove back into his laptop and cyberspace, rooting around. “Ah! Here it is. The Black Widows.”

“Women?” Bond asked.

“Yes, that should make you happy.”

“Women stopped making me happy when they started betraying me,” Bond sighed. He rubbed the side of his face with a hand. Rufus gave a whir and bumped against his foot. He looked down. “You won’t betray me, will you old boy? Huh? Who's a good boy? Who's a good Rufus!?” Bond knelt down to deliver affection to the roomba.

Q, telling himself that he was NOT a little jealous of Rufus, just gave the betrayer a dirty look. “Every person has the capacity for betrayal. Every time you don’t come back to MI6 as warranted, you betray it.”

Bond looked up, blue eyes gone cold. He stood slowly. It may have been because of Bond’s old knees, Q thought, but he soon had an angry agent in front of him, holding Rufus. “Say that again, but to my face.”

Q pushed his glasses up his nose, but refused to back down. “Every time you don’t come back to MI6…”

“Jesus Christ, are you always so literal?”

“When stating facts, yes. M orders you back and you don’t listen, betrayal.”

“Mal-”

“M,” Q said firmly, his lips thinning.

Bond stayed silent at Q’s reminder.

“Well, I suppose I’d rather have you angry at me, instead of scared for me anymore.” Q shut his laptop, his entire focus on the bristly agent.

Bond slowly turned Q’s chair, until he could stand, toe to toe. He leaned down, until his eyes were level and burning into Q’s. It took all Q had to hold Bond’s stare, but hold he did and waited.

“You don’t know who these people are. When you’re outnumbered by the unknown, alone with nothing but your frail body in between MI6 and her enemies, what do you think you’ll do, hmm?”

Q thought for a brief second before saying, “Be unafraid.”

Bond shook his head. “You will fear. Do not think you can't be hurt here.” Bond pointed to Q’s heart. “My life, your life, other people's lives!” He pointed towards the window. “They’re at stake here. Without you, there is no Q-branch, there is no safety, we haven’t known that since…”

“Everyone dies, Bond. Even M’s and Q’s. It’s part of the game.”

“It’s not a game!” Bond snarled, “Lives are NOT games!” He slammed his fist down on Q’s desk, and Rufus gave a small beep. “It is wise to fear. Without fear, you can not prepare.”

“Fear holds you back. It does not move you forward. Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts,” Q replied softly.

Bond rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Winston.”

Q smiled softly up at Bond, the horrid, tetchy version of him gone. “I’m still going to do what I want, when I want, you know that right?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Bond said. He gripped Q’s shoulder briefly, before rushing forward to press a hard kiss against Q’s surprised mouth, distracting him enough that he snagged Q’s laptop from his desk before exiting and showing himself out of Q’s house.

Q glanced around, finding Turpentine and Grommet peering at him from the floor outside his office door. “I suppose I’m going to have to wrestle that from him and find another vacuum cleaner, aren’t I?” The only answer he got was a prrrrrup meow.

 

###

 

The Black Widows stood silently, shoulder to shoulder as they reviewed the footage that they had recorded from the security cameras on the train. They rewound and watched it over and over, several times, freezing the image of Q’s face at the last, as they caught him upturned and looking dead into the camera and what they could see of the other man in all black. La Nola sat back, her fingers tapping against her keyboard.

“Well well well. What have we here?” she murmured. Afew keystrokes later and the images were separated and blown up on her monitor. Her comments were met by a blast of rapid fire chatter as the ladies under her command let loose their opinions. Nearly all of it skipped off of La Nola as she quickly reviewed her options.

“Can we have that?”

“Oh pretty please?”

“How’d he do that?”

“Was it a he?”

“For god’s sake Martha you need glasses. It’s obviously a man. Two men to be exact.”

“Can we have both?”

“What would we do with the other one?” Martha asked, studying the second image.

“Who is the other one?”

“Both is good.”

“Angela, stop thinking about a threesome.”

“It’s a good idea. It’s ALWAYS a good idea,” Angela snickered.

“So, La Nola, we failed in capturing the Quartermaster.”

“All my spy work, wasted,” Myrna grumbled.

“Yes, we did fail in our first attempt,” La Nola agreed, “However, I think we caught something better. Two somethings. This is that London Hero, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Myrna agreed. “Looks like the guy what’s been on the news lately.

“Pull up the old CCTV footage, check the news. Why was he on the train for the Quartermaster.” La Nola instructed, she watched as the women busied themselves with finding the correct footage. “Is there a possible connection with MI6 or a random interference?”

“The Quartermaster didn’t seem to recognize him. He put up one hell of a fight.”

“Unknown ability at MI6?”

“As well as whatever it is the Quartermaster is hiding. Everytime he touched the train, the controls would get taken away from us.”

“This wasn’t part of our dossier, and Myrna didn’t mention anything… Myrna?”

“Hey, either he hides it well and MI6 doesn’t know, or it’s top top secret and I don’t have clearance or access to some of the heavier encrypted files. Some of them are on paper!”

“We can’t let these two get away. We can snag this one,” La Nola tapped the monitor across Q’s bony cheek. “The other one, we’ll have to lay a better trap for.”

“We’re just here for the Quartermaster. Dead, alive, whatever.”

“Well I want him alive now,” La Nola said, tapping the monitor again over the London Hero’s face.

“But the Prime-”

“Is not here and I’m running the show,” La Nola snapped.

“Dangerous words.”

“Look, if we bag these guys, we’ll have a treat for the Prime and influence with SPECTRE.” La Nola raised her eyebrows. “You can’t buy that status.”

“If he’s manipulating electronics like we suspect, how are we going to capture him? He’d manipulate any containment field!”

“We go old school. Sometimes, the old ways are the best ways,” La Nola said.

“What, a quick bash and grab?”

“How about a couple volts through him. Short him out?” Angela asked, jabbing her finger into Martha.

“Does he short out?” Martha asked, swatting Angela’s hand away.

“How the hell should I know?”

“I just thought…”

“We could spend ages throwing things at him to figure out his weakness.”

“Is this what stopped Silva?”

“There’s no record of anything like that.”

“Undetermined,” La Nola said.

“What about water?” Myrna asked, holding up her water bottle.

“Water?”

Myrna shook her water bottle, it sloshed around, “Yeah, water and electricity don’t mix, hello. Basic life lessons 101.”

“You want we should just what? Dump a bucket of water on him? Throw wet sponges?”

“Maybe he could be defeated by a wet sponge and it wouldn’t even have to be an evil wet sponge!” Myrna flung her arms out in excitement.

“Jesus, Myrna.”

“An EMP,” La Nola said quietly. She picked up a pen and tossed it in the air, “We set an EMP to go off when he opens his door. It’ll shut off all his electronics. Maybe it’ll scramble him, who knows, since we don’t. Then a good old fashioned tranq.”

“No experimenting first?”

“We’re short on time. They know we’re after him. Okay listen. Nothing else on the ‘net. No electronic communications. We plan. We act. That’s it or we risk being found and truly failing.”

“Build the web.” One of the ladies whispered, and all of the women nodded in agreement. They dispersed to design the capture of the Quartermaster.

“Trap the fly.”

“Bleed him dry.”

 

###

 

The trap was set. Work permits and work women were posted in Q’s gated community doing pavement repair. Q paid no attention to them as he left his house in the morning, his laptop bag swinging heavily against his legs and the hood of his anorak pulled low over his fringe. It would be ages before he came back, and it would be cold, dark, the power out to the entire row, the work equipment left abandoned by the entryway, the workers gone. The neighbors milled about the area, chatting about a power surge or brownout. Q recognized Bernard’s bark, but he ignored them, rushing to his home, concerned about his own delicate equipment. He had his key nearly out, when he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. He glanced around quickly, none of the other neighbors seemed to be alarmed or notice his pause. Bernard was still barking in the background. Q reached under his anorak, his fingertips finding the leather to his shoulder holster.

Q had taken to arming himself, under everyone’s advisement regarding his personal safety following the train incident. He took a firm grip on the Sig-Sauer p226R he had personalized. A brief touch with the toe of his shoe had the door opening with a slight creak; it was dark inside. Nothing beeped, whirred or came to life. He stood frozen for a moment before he made a small clicking sound with his tongue, hearing rather than seeing Turpentine and Grommet rush out to greet him. They wound around his feet before sniffing at the door and heading back inside. Q reached blindly into the front pocket of his laptop bag, pulling out a tactical flashlight. He blew out a breath, firmed his grip and entered.

When he had cleared his house, finding nothing amiss except for the power, he called Tanner, who dispatched an agent to Q’s location post haste to secure his home and ordered Q to wait in a secondary location just in case. Q swung his flashlight around again to look for his cat’s carrier, so he wouldn’t have to leave them behind. The beam of light caught on the reflective lenses of the cats and he froze; they were both huddled around a very familiar, inanimate black and red disk lying next to it’s charger.

“Rufus,” Q whispered. He holstered his firearm and ran forwards, startling the cats off of their nesting spot, “Move, move. Rufus?” Q asked, as if the little fellow, dead to the world could answer him. He flipped him over; his battery was dead, and with no power to the house, he had no way of charging him… unless… Q rummaged around in his bag again until he found his portable charger. He put his flashlight on the floor, taking Rufus and the charger in either hand. He concentrated until he could connect the power from the charger to Rufus. A quick spark and a yelp from Q had the power transferring between himself and the little Roomba. It’s green flights flickered to show it was charging. Once the spark of life kicked into it, Q was rolling through it’s A.I. It had run out of power and Bond hadn’t taken the charger with him. He must have come back for it.

He jerked around, dropping Rufus, the charger and scaring the cats as he drew his weapon again as his door creaked open.

“Jesus Mishka, what are you still doing here?” Alec rumbled out. His large shadow filling the doorway.

“Where’s 007.” Q asked.

Alec’s shoulders sagged, “He was to come here and get some sort of charger for that little vacuum.” Alec flicked the light switch. “No power still.”

“No.”

“We need to go.”

“Hold on.” Q said.

“No hold on!” Alec snagged a handful of the back of Q’s anorak.

Q dropped out of his coat and backed away from Alec, “Just, one sec, there’s something on the back of the door.”

“What does it say? Surrender Dorothy?” Alec grumbled, hooking the hood over Q’s manic hair.

“Pretty much,” Q replied just as dryly to Alec’s humor. His flashlight illuminated the note pinned to the back of his door. “Come and join us or he dies, again and again and again. Oh good, there’s a map. How quaint.” Q’s body shook with rage. They knew what he could do and if he kept himself safe and left Bond, he would die and then he’d come back, but then they’d keep killing him. Q didn’t know how much of that a person could take. Dammit Bond. He couldn’t leave him like that. “What do we do Alec?

“We leave him.”

Q turned slowly to stare up at 007’s closest friend. “What?”

“We leave him.”

“It doesn’t get any better hearing you repeat it. No,” he said softly, “Absolutely not.”

“If you know what he can do, you know he can handle this.”

“I don’t know what’s worse, you agreeing to leave him with these people or THEM knowing what it is he can do.” Q shook the note in Alec’s face. “We have to get him, you don’t know how much he could take over and over and over again. Even if he survived, he’d never be the same person! I have to get him if you won’t do it.”

“I agree with nothing except for sweeping your house for anything suspicious, which there is. You need to go to the secondary location and meet 009.”

“No. I have to get James,” Q argued back. “This power outage isn’t natural. All the electronics that were on when I left are dead. Dead, dead. I can’t connect to them. Anything that wasn’t on is still able to function. Like Rufus here.” Q held the roomba up.

“What do you mean you can’t connect to them?” Alec asked, his head twisting to look down at Q. “Oh dear God, tell me there’s not another one of you.”

“There’s more of me?” Q asked surprised.

“People with powers that aren’t useful? Yeah.”

“I’m useful,” Q snapped. “And so is 007, he can’t die. Well… he can, it’s just, he comes back! I can just handle electronics, cyberspace, and a bit of electricity.”

“Maybe not so useless after all Mishka.” Alec grinned down at him.

“Stop calling me that. We need to go after him, them. Contact 009. I’m all right and with you. We can’t have him finding out about Bond.”

“And what about me?” Alec asked.

“You’re either with me to go get him or you stay here and pretend to keep my house safe.”

Alec chewed on his lip, deep in thought about his choices for a hot minute.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” Q blurted out. He almost stamped his foot, almost, but it was a close call.

“Well you have got to be kidding me! You’re going to go out there, where they are, unarmed except for one SIG-saur, one roomba and one double-oh.”

“Sounds like good odds.”

“You are killing me. Do you see that? look at me, I’m dying. I’m dead. At least Jameska would wear some protective clothing to go do this. Your stupid, ugly coat would only hold you back.” Alec pulled the hood down over Q’s head and shook Q with it.

“Ow! Stop that! I know what Bond wears. Half of it belongs to Q-branch.” Q said, swinging at Alec with Rufus; he heard a grunt and felt the collision of agent and roomba.

“I did not say that.”

“If you don’t think I can’t recognize my own designs Alec, then you’re in sore need of remedial training.”

“Oi!”

“I’ve been working on a few things of my own. So shut up, call 009 and I’ll go suit up.” Q stalked swiftly away from Alec.

“Unbelieveable,” Alec grumbled, pulling his mobile out to contact 009.

“I’ve always wanted to say that,” Q said over his shoulder, his eyes flaring with unholy glee, as he ran up the stairs to his bedroom closet, where he had been hiding his prototype suits.

“Fantastic,” Alec mumbled into the empty air, “First one Super Cockroach and now a Super Computer. Excellent. Whoever was handing out super powers has one big sense of super humor.”

Q yelled down the stairwell, “Did you bring a car?”

“No! Moneypenny dropped me off, and I’m to hoof it back. Why?” Alec yelled back up.

“Fantastic. Go the garage- you’ll find Old Bess. We’ll take her; start her up!”

Alec grumbled to himself as he did what he was told, only stopping his monologue of self-pity when he caught sight of ‘Old Bess,’ the 1941 Harley. “This night definitely got better!”


	10. The Merry Widows

Well, as evenings went, it was not a very unpleasant one yet. Tied to a chair and surrounded by a plethora of women eyeing him with varying degrees of excitement, confusion, curiosity and mirth, James watched as the women circled him as he gave his wrists a twist; whatever it was in the tranquilizer they hit him with was finally leaving his system. He gave a small thank you to whatever deity listened to him that they had snagged him, rather than Q. At least with Q still out there, he’d have a greater chance of being found swiftly. The women had made a mistake by not covering their faces. He’d find them after he got out of this. Whether or not they lived, he’d leave that up to MI6… maybe.

The women, who were not talking to him, began to talk softly amongst themselves. He decided that enough was enough; it was time to get the party going. Hopefully they would provide him with some sort of entertainment while he cobbled together his escape plan.

James took the initiative and softly drawled out, “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” If James wasn’t scared before, he got a little bit nervous just now, because as one, the women turned to him, and their talking ceased. One of them spoke out, for the entire group.

“No, we haven’t. I’m La Nola, and this is my associate Myrna.”

The woman identified as Myrna waved with… knitting needles and a ball of yarn? “Hello dear, and you are?”

“Bond, James Bond, but then you knew that, didn’t you.” James recognized her as the new tech that had been with Q during the unfortunate explosion in Lab 6. She might have to die tonight. With nothing more forthcoming, the ladies exchanged glances, Myrna’s needles were clicking away, making the only sound.

La Nola spoke up for the group, “You’re an interesting fellow.”

“I’m sure I’m not,” James replied calmly; he turned his arms, and tugged at his bindings, drawing the women’s attention to where he wanted it.

Myrna circled around, her needles clicking furiously. “Where’s the other interesting fellow? Oh drat, I miscounted again.” She wandered off and the rest of the women rolled their eyes.

James watched with some amusement at the back of the knitting Myrna. “I thought you said I was interesting.”

A soft tsk from another woman, thin, narrow faced, hair pulled into a ponytail at her nape. Her face free of makeup. “Don’t be jealous. Where is he?”

James rolled his shoulders as far as he could. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“He’ll show,” Myrna yelled from the back of the group.

“Who?” James asked, playing along.

“The Quartermaster.

A heartbeat: James focused on his knees and not the ladies. “Who?” The look he turned on them was one filled with confusion.

La Nola merely sighed at him. “Don’t be dull. I hate it when men are dull.”

Apparently, his statement of confusion wasn’t to be tolerated by the other ladies of the group; they each took a moment to unleash their tongues upon their audience.

“Women invented games, did we not?”

“And we play them well.”

“You’ve learned that the hard way.”

“Perhaps this will be easier than we thought.”

Laughter rose from the group, and James studied them once more. As a unit, they were terrifying, as opposite a man as they could be. Women’s tongues were sharp and could cut to the bone. They would strip him bare and lay him down, raw and bleeding, using only his own skin to do the job.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” James interrupted their mocking laughter.

“Men never do.”

“But he’ll show, won’t he?”

“I couldn’t say, since I have no idea who you’re talking about,” James replied once more.

“You were in the Quartermaster’s home, Mr. Bond. It doesn’t take much to guess who or what you are,” La Nola said. She angled her head to the right, guiding James to look at a petite lady waving a tablet in the air. “We do own a large percentage of the internet and the traffic that goes out. It’s amusing when people think they can hide things.”

“When will people learn to stick with hard copies,” the lady with the tablet said gleefully. “We have your file Mr. Bond, or should we say Commander Bond. Do you prefer 007, an ‘exemplar of British fortitude’?” The lady snorted. “Whatever that means.”

Myrna had wandered back and was peering over the lady’s shoulder at the tablet, her eyes flicked up, “Such a long Medical record. Gunshot wounds, stabbings, burns, beatings, being buried alive. My, my and yet, look at you: a bonny lad, healthy as the day you entered the service. Not many double-ohs have your secret.” Myrna’s eyes twinkled at him, but all she got in return was a lazy, bored stare. “And what is your secret Mr. Bond?”

“Resurrection. I really should put that on a shirt.”

La Nola graced him with a similar bored look. “Dear Dinosaur, relic of a time gone by, if you don’t think we don’t know what we have on our hands, then you are also foolish and should quit the service.”

“The Quartermaster isn’t the only one who can monitor the CCTVs.” The lady with the tablet said, she flipped it around and replayed the incident on the train in full color. She paused the video and he got a glimpse of Q’s face full on, followed by his own, partially obstructed by his face covering, but the eyes, the eyes would always be his.

“Pretty eyes,” Myrna murmured. “We can also do retinal scans, fingerprints, all sorts of fun detective-y things and match them up.”

“Yes, we can put two and two together,” La Nola said, “You were in his house. Which was fortuitous- we didn’t have to hunt you, so we took you and left him a message. He won’t have to do any heavy lifting searching for clues. He’ll hate that, and he’ll come, especially now that we have you, Mr. Bond. Sometimes it’s the simple things that are the most effective.” She pulled a gun out and held it to Bond’s temple. “Perhaps we’ll entertain ourselves while we wait?”

Bond hoped that Q would have the sense to stay away and stay safe, but knowing the stubborn streak that ran through the Quartermaster from head to toe, along with his now crazy power, he’d soon be breaking down the doors…

“He’s here,” the lady with the tablet said.

“Close the web,” La Nola whispered. “Cut him off.”

Bond’s thoughts trailed off as the lady with the tablet swiped across it;, the lights went out immediately afterwards. Bond lashed out at the closest woman to him and yelled out a warning, but it was too late.

 

###

 

What Q hadn’t done was any homework before setting one foot into the Black Widow's lair, an empty one-story warehouse along the waterfront. Like any newbie superhero in training, he only brought himself and a very reluctant, belligerent agent. 006 had talked him into letting him do some reconnaissance, but Q decided he could get in and get out without too much fuss.

With his borrowed lenses that were in beta testing, they allowed night vision and infrared depending on what he selected; he would be able to get a lock on Bond without having to enter the building. When he saw one of the women pull a gun out and aim it at Bond, who was lashed to a chair and unable to move, he jumped at the perceived opening.

“Q!” Alec’s voice burst through his comm unit, a whip crackle of sound. “Stop!”

“I see him,” Q whispered back. “I’m going to cut the power to the building. We’ll be able to work under complete darkness. Get your night vision ready.”

“No. Fall back. I’m not going to be held responsible for your capture or death,” Alec hissed.

“They’ll never see me coming.”

“They know you’re coming, fool!”

“They don’t know what I can do!” Q hissed back. He climbed through a window and found the nearest switch, the sounds of Alec cursing in his ear. “If you’re going to clutter the comms with conversation, keep it useful.” He concentrated to shut off the power, but instead, found it empty. “What?” He whispered, “there’s no power!”

“What?” Alec echoed, confusion in his voice.

“There’s no power,” Q repeated himself.

“But it went out, I saw it.”

“It wasn’t me! There must be another source,” Q said, confusion and tension tightening his voice.

“Get out of there Q!”

Q turned to do as Alec suggested, but he heard a voice come from the dark, he paused. “Shit,” he whispered.

“Q!” Alec yelled once more into the comms.

“I heard him!” Q ran towards the direction he had seen Bond being held captive.

“Q, God dammit, get out of there!”

“No!” Q continued on, ignoring Alec.

The Widows were anything other than unprepared. Sometimes low tech is the best tech, returning to tactics from the dark ages. The power failure was not a coincidence, but a con. One petrol driven generator, hidden on the premises, operated the lights where they had Bond. The building itself was dead, abandoned and powerless: the perfect trap for a power that needed power. They waited like the spiders they were, poised to snag the fly caught in their trap.

Q peeked around the part of the building that the women were last seen; he heard a scuffle, another yell and then a gunshot. “No!” Q yelled and ran forward.

“Q stop!” Alec yelled in his ear.

Q was led right into a trap. No sooner had he turned the corner into the large room then he saw the chair that had held Bond had been knocked over with James still in it, but Q didn’t know whether or not he had actually been shot, and if he had, then it didn’t really matter anyway. With a quiet huff, Q charged forward, his night vision showing where all the women were. Strange sounds came from beneath his feet, so he froze. There was something covering the floor. He yelped as a flash bomb went off; his hands flew to his face, yanking the lenses off, blinded by the sudden change to his vision.

“Shit.” His heart dropped into his boots.

“Q!” Alec was still in his ear, which means he heard the panic come out of Q. There was a crackle of static before the line went dead.

An electric shock went right through Q, jolting him bow tight. His body burned from the inside out as whatever they hit him with, tore through the delicate circuits housed within his body. He dropped like a rock, a heaping wad of gelatin on the floor. The lights went up as the lady with the tablet thumbed over an app.

From the floor, Bond barely had time to see the quick succession of events that led to Q now lying incapacitated on the floor. The women approached Q, La Nola reaching him first. She nudged him with the toe of her booted foot.

“Sometimes the old ways are the best ways. Wrap him up ladies.” She turned around as Myrna led the other women to bind Q and prepare him for transport when one clean and clear shot rang out, stopping La Nola in her tracks. The women turned as one, to see her fall to her knees. Her hands groped at her chest, and she turned, coughing as blood trickled out the corner of her mouth. She looked startled. The women rushed to her, forgetting Q and Bond in their haste to discover what was wrong with their leader, a mistake on their part. Bond could see Alec moving in slowly and silently. Bond moved to help by throwing himself around in his chair, causing the women to become even more distracted.

At the opening, Alec took steady aim and fired. The women screamed, Myrna swiped the app on the tablet as the bearer fell to the ground. The lights went off as the women scattered throughout the warehouse. Alec managed to wound another one or two, before he stopped firing, it was too public of a space, his shots and the women’s screams would have been heard. As Alec was working his magic, Bond managed to break free from the chair during Alec’s rampage; he snagged the gun that La Nola had dropped and ran for Q, providing cover fire. He fired the weapon once, clipping his target.

The last shots echoed through the space and Alec padded back to join them. He scooped up the tablet from Myrna, who had been clutching it to her chest; she had been shot in the leg by Bond. “This looks useful. You want to live? Talk.”

Myrna remained stubbornly silent. Instead of speaking, she glanced away and shifted her position slightly.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Bond said, still aiming for her. “I’ve decided I don’t like you, so listen to 006, there’s a dear.”

“Why don’t we like her?” Q mumbled from behind Bond.

“She’s the reason behind Lab 6.”

“Oh. Really!”

They had distracted Alec. “If you two will stop… Ow, god dammit!” Alec jumped back as Myrna’s needles flashed in the darkness; she had stabbed him in the thigh. As he hopped away and took aim, he was too late. One gunshot and flash of light from where Bond and Q were, and Myrna was no more.

“See, I didn’t like her,” Bond said.

“Ha, ha, funny,” Alec grumbled as he limped back to where they lay.

“Q?” Bond said, turning the Quartermaster over. “Come on Q. Nap time’s over.”

A heavy exhale and Q was speaking, “You have the worst lines ever. Ever, ever. Who writes them?”

“And 007’s the best we have. Bah,” Alec said, a tooth-filled grin on his face.

At the mention of his number, Bond turned, whip fast on Alec. “Why in the hell did you bring him?”

“Bring him? I bring him? He brought himself and I brought me! At least I didn’t let him go alone. And what were you doing? Getting caught and held hostage like some kind of spoiled princess?”

“I was about to escape, you Russian half-wit, but then Q showed up!”

“What kind of escape were you trying to do? You were taking forever, and he refused to listen to anything I was saying! Q, you are worse than he is.”

“I hate you both so terribly much right now. Can we go? We have to tell MI6,” Q said, from where he was pushing himself up off the floor.

Bond and Alec exchanged glances. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea?”

Q frowned up at both of them. “Yes it is. We made a mess, we need it handled. We also need to know who these women were. Did you leave any alive Alec?”

A low rumble came from Alec’s chest as he coughed. “I think so, maybe.”

“Good.” Q held his hand out for the tablet Alec was holding. “I’ll call Tanner.”

“I don’t even know how we’re going to explain this,” Bond mumbled, rubbing his hands through his hair and face. “I’ve gone off the grid so many times after someone, do we…” his voice trailed off at the chastising look Q was giving him.

“You may have, but I haven’t. I have a reputation to live up to. Besides, I’ve already contacted Tanner via text. He’s sending a cleanup crew. I told him we didn’t need Medical, but some of our new friends might.”

Alec held a hand down to Bond and helped hoist him up; they both held their hands down to Q, who was still typing away at the tablet, eyes flicking back and forth as he was trying to connect with what was accessible. When he didn’t take their hands, they each grabbed a bicep and hefted him up. All they got was a mumbled thank you for their effort. Alec and Bond’s eyes met over his head. Alec rolled his own while Bond merely grinned. Their Quartermaster was indeed a handful.

To say that Tanner was pleased to see them at oh-arse early in the morning was an understatement, but as always, M’s right hand man of infinite patience merely surveyed the scene and saw two double-ohs, one grinning like a loon and one looking slightly chastised, and a wet Quartermaster hyper-focused on a tablet that was covered in various rainbow stickers. Q was barely paying attention to the world around him and was being guided by the slightly chastised agent.

“Thank you for another memorable evening, gentlemen,” Tanner sighed, surveying the blessedly small body count. According to Alec, there were several women now on the run and only a few who were unsalvageable.

“Not a problem, Tanner.” Alec said, clapping him hard on the shoulder; any other man would have been driven to the ground, but Tanner was used to Alec’s antics.

“006, 007?” Tanner asked, “Please see that the Quartermaster gets home safely. I’ll expect a full report and debrief tomorrow… er today on my desk. No later than lunch time.”

“Aye, sir,” Bond replied, steering Q away and out of the warehouse.

“Da,” Alec growled. He subtly elbowed Q as he passed, but it didn’t phase the smaller man either. He grumbled something about losing his touch as he continued on. Bond grinned at his back.

“Q?” Tanner asked, as Bond led Q past him. Bond gave Q’s arm a shake and put his hand over the tablet screen.

“Hmm?”

“Tablet, please.” Tanner held his hand out.

“Oh, but-”

“No, Q.” Q huffed out a breath and relinquished the tablet into Tanner’s outstretched hands. “Home, Q.” Tanner said, nodding to the car.

“Oh Tanner!” Q said, suddenly remembering.

Tanner turned from where he was walking back to the scene of their destruction. “Yes?”

“Old Bess. Could you see she gets returned? 009 knows where she goes.” Q pointed to a motorcycle parked out of the way.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Bond led Q to the waiting car, where Alec was “helping” by waving his arms to the interior in order to hurry them along. “He’s the helpest.” Bond murmured in Q’s ear.

“I see that.” Q gave Alec a small smile as he folded himself into the interior of the car, their MI6 driver waiting for all passengers to load themselves in before getting behind the wheel.  
Alec tapped the headrest of the driver, “Home, Jeeves.”

“Very good sir,” came the cheeky reply and a quicksilver flash of a smile in the rearview mirror.

 

###

 

The driver pulled up to Q’s house first. Bond opened the door and got out, and Q followed. Alec tried to get out with them, but Bond pressed his hand over his face, pushing rudely, until Alec grunted and laughed before settling back into the car.

“Take him home,” Bond directed the driver before pointing at Alec. “Stay there.” He slammed the door in Alec’s laughing face and turned to help Q get inside.

“I’m alright Bond, go home,” Q muttered as he poked around in his pockets for his keys. “Aha.”

“I’m just following orders, Q.” Bond frowned as it took Q two times to miss the lock on his door; his hands were still shaking. “I’ve got it,” he murmured. He steadied Q’s hand, and together, they managed to get the door unlocked and opened.

Prrrrp, Meow?

Mrrow, mrrow.

Q’s cats came running out of the living room to the sound of the door opening. He greeted them as Bond locked up behind them. Q spared a glance at Bond for locking them both in his house, before they were both distracted by a soft whrrrrring noise followed the cats. Bond was pleasantly surprised to see Rufus zooming up to him.

“Hey kids, we’re home!” Bond said, squatting down to pat Rufus. The cats also assumed he was meant for them as well, so they turned from Q. Turpentine leapt up onto Bond’s shoulder and Grommet clawed at his trousers until he found a clawhold and was soon butting his head under Bond’s chin. Rufus let out an alarming beeping noise. “Oh boy,” Bond said. He looked around for Q, to find him holding back a laugh. His eyes lit from within with humor, his shoulders shaking, a hand hiding a grin that had the skin pulled tight across his cheekbones.

Bond had a moment of gut instinct, where all he wanted to do was pull that hand away and kiss that smile. He’d gotten this far in life based on his ability to never ignore his gut, so why stop now? Bond stood, dislodging Grommet, who jumped down, but Turpentine remained steady. Q’s eyes widened as Bond and the cat got closer and closer, until he was pressed back against the wall, Bond a steady, warm presence along his front, with a mouth even warmer as it found his own. Turpentine purred in both of their ears. They remained pressed against each other, and the kiss deepened for one hot second, before Q quickly disengaged himself. He pushed Bond away, and to his surprise, Bond moved easily. Q took a deep breath, his eyes blinking swiftly, his cheeks pinkened as he held his hands up in front of him. Touching, yet not touching, his fingers brushed the material of Bond’s tactical shirt.

“I’m not… God I mean I want… but this isn’t a good idea. You and me.”

James pressed back into him, as if seeking warmth or comfort against his hands. He asked softly, “Why not?”

“Getting involved with underlings is never a good idea, James, you know that.” Q smiled briefly to take the sting out of his words, “as the Quartermaster, getting involved with any underling, much less a double-oh, probably tops the list of least great ideas in the world of worst ideas ever.”

James nodded solemnly, still pressing against Q’s hands, which flexed infinitesimally against his shirt. “It does have it’s disadvantages.” Q huffed, avoiding James’s eyes. He distracted himself by reaching a hand out to scritch behind Turpentine’s ears. The other two beasts, Grommet and Rufus wove themselves around their legs, or at least, Rufus tried. James spoke once more, “But yet again, there are it’s advantages.”

Q looked up curiously; he removed his scritching hand and pushed his glasses back up, frowning. “Yes and one of them is that at some point in time, we’ll be accused of taking advantage of our positions. Stop that.” Q berated him as James wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, “Besides that, none of the double-ohs I know do relationships. You’re like… bees. You go from one flower to the next, loyal to one Queen.” Q cuts him off before the protest. “I don’t mean it as an insult. Sometimes those flowers die, and you’re forced to move on. It’s one of the concomitants of lov… liking an agent.”

James’s lips went tight, and he stepped away, out of reach of Q’s empty hands. He ran his fingers through his hair, the only tell of his agitation before finally dislodging Turpentine. Q’s hands hung empty for a moment before they fell back against his sides. “And if it were just for one…” James couldn’t even finish his own sentence because he didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew what he didn’t want for Q.

Q shook his head, catching James’s hesitation. “I couldn’t do that to myself. And I couldn’t do that to you. I would regret it.”

“What do you want?” James asked, point blank. Directness wouldn’t hurt with Q, but subversiveness would.

“Are you trying to bribe me?” Q asked, startled.

A wry grin twisted across James’s face. “Hardly. Let’s just take a moment here, if we were normal people and we met at a normal place, what would you want?”

“You mean if we were two blokes picking each up at a bar after making googly eyes at each other all night long?” Q’s smile slowly crept back onto his face.

A mischievous sparkle entered James’s eyes, “I never googlied my eyes at you.”

Q smiled fully. “You did. Hmm. Well, since you put it that way. if I met you at a bar and you weren’t who you were, and I wasn’t who I was, then yes, I’d be interested.”

Another small smile, blue eyes crinkling in the corner. “Well, we can be thankful for the small things. But what would you want from me, in that instance?”

Q’s chin tilted up in defiance and looked James up and down. “If we’re being honest, then I’d fancy a test shag.”

“A test shag? Before a first date?” James hid a smile behind his hand, he was beyond amused.

“Yes. Test you out, see if you’re worth pursuing for a first date. I would need some sort of data. You know the importance of test driving a vehicle before you buy it.”

James’s eyes light up. “Would I pass?”

“In that moment, probably.”

“And afterwards?” James approached slowly, until he was back in Q’s personal space.

Q felt his body heat sink into his own cold body. “We’d exchange numbers. I’d probably wait a day or two to call you, depending on how work goes, but you’d break down and call me first.”

James laughed again at Q’s thought process. He placed a hand along his hip. “That good huh?”

Q’s eyes crinkled at the edges in a smile and tapped James’s hand where it lay. “Yes.”

“And then what?” James leaned in, whispering against Q’s ear. He pulled back when he heard Q’s voice come out sadly.

“We’d date. Due to the demands of my job, I’d only be able to see you regularly on a Friday evening. The occasional Saturday morning wake up together…” His voice faded out.

James hummed encouragingly, “Mmm hmm.”

“Because I’d have kicked you out long before then, but if you stayed, then you’d leave and I’d have the rest of the weekend to rest and recuperate for Monday morning unless someone, who shall stay nameless, caused an international incident over the weekend. Then I’d have to cut it short.”

“And after that?”

“Too many emergencies and secrecy at MI6. You’d get angry with me after awhile. Perhaps you’d become jealous, thinking I was cheating on you. Tired of the secrecy, tired of too many cancelled dates, concert tickets you’ve purchased that will have to go to waste.” Q twitched, edging away from James’s touch, his reality replaying through his head. He couldn’t see James anymore, just failed and unaccomplished relationships of his own making.

“Q.” One word was all James said before he was placing his hands gently on Q’s face to turn it back to him, seeing the eyes filled with the ghosts of his past. He sighed; it looked like he wasn’t going to be the only one carrying baggage around with him.

“It’s happened before. To me.”

“You do realize that in this case, we both work for MI6, and that would be one of the advantages for whatever this might be?” James brushed a thumb lightly over Q’s lower lip, soothing and irritating at the same time.

“You can’t even define it. I can’t define it. Also, it’s a disadvantage because of work environments and relationships!”

“That’s because we haven’t started anything yet. You can’t define the non-existent. This isn’t all about me.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Stop using humor to deflect.”

“We know almost absolutely nothing about each other. MI6 and it’s bloody spies and their secrets,” Q grumbled.

“Which is why I asked you what you wanted. It seems pretty clear that you at least want a test drive, and maybe a bit of a first date. I’m fine with trying that. It may be that’s as much as I can give you, and it may be that it’s all you want out of me, but we won’t know unless we try. Where’s your scientific mind and its need for data?” James tilted Q’s face, playfully looking around as if it had leaked through his ears. “Maybe it’s in your hair.” James pushed his hands through Q’s messy mop of tangled curls.

Q merely rolled his eyes, “I think I left it in my other pockets.”

“Q.”

Q pressed his hands against James’s roaming ones, holding them still. He looked into James’s eyes, trying to read them. “You really want this?”

“No, I want you, for as long as I can have you. The rest, we’ll figure out.” James shrugged, he leaned in a pressed a kiss to the corner of Q’s jaw. “Please take me out for a test drive.”

“If you make a stick shift joke, I might just kill you myself,” Q said before ducking his head as James’s laugh tickled across his neck. He looked to the floor in thought, “Well… I suppose.”

At Q’s hesitation, James dragged one hand through his hair to cup his cheek, pressing his face up for a kiss. He was surprised out of his action as Q moved suddenly, shoving James around, his back now against the wall, their positions reversed. The cats and roomba scattered at this upheaval. James found himself lifted slightly, off balance; his right shoulder hit the wall first. He scooted himself up on his tiptoes to keep in contact with Q and his balance, the wiry strength evident in the ease at which Q maneuvered James and how he suddenly pressed himself between James’s legs, supporting his weight. A pair of pretty blue eyes that had killed in cold blood multiple times for Queen and country widened in surprise.

Q pulled back just a tad to glare at him with eyes narrowed. “I’m not a pretty, pretty princess. This is what underestimation gets you. Up against the wall.”

James wasn’t going to complain. In fact, he couldn’t stop laughing, even as Q pressed forward for the kiss that James had thought was meant for him to take. James spoke around it, giving no quarter to his Quartermaster. “Now… about… hhhhh… that first… date… Q!”

“Sssh, talk later, other stuff first.”

“Mmmph!” James was pleasantly cut off.

 

###

 

It was James that awakened first; he rolled over to see the pale skin of Q, reflecting the warmth of the watery morning sun as it peeked through the curtains. He raised himself up on one elbow and saw the cats curled at the foot of the bed, Rufus motoring away on the floor. At James’s motion, the cats blinked their eyes open and stretched. They both approached him and Q; he allowed them to butt their heads against his stubble covered chin before they flopped down against Q’s back. Still sleeping, Q gave a small shuffle and settled back down. James occupied himself with alternating petting Q and then the cats. The cats purred mightily, and Q’s head turned, until one eyelid slid itself open and presented the sliver of a jade green eye. He grumbled and pushed James’s hand away as he resituated himself. James took the opportunity to ruffle his stubble against Q’s bare shoulder, causing the cats to scatter and Q to yelp. He pressed soothing kisses into the pinkened skin.

“You’re worse than the cats,” Q grumbled out, he pulled the sheet up further, covering himself, but that helped him nowhere as James dug himself under the blankets and snagged a handful of Quartermaster. “You are WAY worse than the cats, JAMES!” Q yelled as he was dragged mercilessly into a wrestling match under the bed covers. “That’s it, we’re over. Get out.”

“No.”

“I have to pee!”

“Fine.” James let go of Q who bolted to the bathroom.

“Jerk,” Q called over his shoulder, “But we need to talk about your gear.”

“My gear?” James asked, confused as he waited for his own turn for the bathroom.

Q came padding out bare foot and as naked as the day he was born. James gave his arse a smack as he passed him by, earning himself another foul word from the young man who hid birds in his hair. James laughed all the way to the bathroom. He came back to find Q had propped himself up against the headboard, his laptop across his legs, glasses on and brow furrowed.

“Work?” James asked as he slid back under the covers, sliding as close to Q as he could, delighted to find that he hadn’t bothered to put pants on. James leaned over to look at the screen. “Is it even plugged in?”

“No. You don’t have to keep laptops plugged in old man. Now, James, you’re living in the past. It’s the 14th century. Ow! ” Q jerked to the side from the pinch he received.

James let out a huff. “Toddler. What gear and what about it?”

Q pushed his glasses up. “The stolen Q-branch gear you wear out there, on the mean streets of London.”

“Oh, that.” James sighed.

“Yes that.”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes and no. Yes, because you said it had been destroyed, and we accounted for that. No, because you needed the protection. I wouldn’t have denied you, had I known.” Q kissed the top of James’s short cropped hair.

“Hmm. Well, what about it now?”

“You need better if you’re going to keep doing that.” Q waved his hand in the air vaguely gesturing out the window to the city skyline beyond.

“You’re not going to stop me?” James asked, surprised.

“Why ever would I? I see what you do for the people. I see what you do for Queen and country. The least I can do is see you well kitted out.”

“How kind of you.” Q elbowed him in the chest this time. “Urng. Bony old man.” James muttered.

“Besides, I can design something and fabricate it for you that will give you much better protection, so I don’t have to see you die on my bathroom floor all the time. I’ll also modify another set to accommodate my powers.” Q pulled a drawing tablet out from his night stand drawer and seamlessly connected it to his laptop.

“You’re getting better at that.”

“Thanks, dear,” Q drawled out in his quiet voice.

“Hold up, your powers. To go out there? Where I go?” James frowned up at Q as he thought about what it would mean to have Q out there with him.

“It’s all or nothing James. If I’m not stopping you, then you’re not stopping me,” Q said, his lips compressing as he looked down at James curled up against him. He huffed out an amazed laugh as James lifted the bed sheets and took a good look before agreeing.

“Well, okay, if you insist.”

“Wow.”

“You said all or nothing. I prefer you in both states.”

Q turned pink before spending the next five minutes ignoring James and mumbling to himself. “There.” He turned the laptop towards James, who merely raised his eyebrows before looking up at Q.

“If you think you can pull it off.”

Q snorted, “Of course I can.”

“I’m sure you could. Ow!” James snickered as Q pinched him.

 

###

 

A week later found them both saying goodbye to their favorite Mother Russian hen as they left Bond’s flat through his window and up to the rooftop. Alec looked down at Rufus who had been left behind with him. “I guess it’s just you and me tonight.” The little Roomba whirred and sped along the floor in dizzy circles. “Alright, but I get to pick the channel tonight. No more Battlebots. I’m pretty sure Q doesn’t want you taking apart anymore of his electronics anymore. He says I’m a bad influence on you.” Rufus made a soft clicking sound. “You’re a bad influence on me, I know it.”

Q and James stood shoulder to shoulder on the top of James’s building, surveying the London skyline, dark silhouettes against the night sky. Q had finished developing the gear to keep James safer and to allow himself to function even without power and with full insulation against electric shock. He had learned after his night with the Black Widows.

“It’s your first time,” James said out of the corner of his mouth, “I’ll be gentle.”

“Your jokes are as lame as you are, old man,” Q whispered harshly back. “Ouch!” He gave a yelp as James pinched his arse.

“I do so love the design of these outfits. Ready?” James said., “There’s no turning back.”

Q cracked his knuckles, and the power in James’s building fluctuated. “I’m ready.”


End file.
